Berserk
by Rivendell101
Summary: Berserk. Out of control with anger. This is what Natsu was born to be. A warrior soaked in blood. A murderer. This is what Pergrande turned him into. Taken at a young age by the King, Natsu is a soldier of the Royal Army, a creature of rage and violence—a weapon. Lucy is a thief from Fiore with a price on her head and magic in her blood.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Please note: this is a new chapter. During my rewrite of this story, I decided this chapter was necessary, so here it is! The next chapter will also be new, before we get into the actual rewrite process!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter One**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Lucy feels out of place in this city, more so than she'd care to admit. Pergrande isn't a place for her kind, she knows. It isn't safe here. Not for her. Not for most people, truthfully, but most of them have nowhere else to go. Lucy herself wouldn't be here if it wasn't necessary, and she's beginning to wish she hadn't come at all, aware of the curious eyes following her as she walks the streets, slipping through the alleys purposefully.

She looks out of place in this city, she knows, though hopefully they wouldn't guess her origins are Fioren. Fiore and Pergrande haven't gotten on well in decades, not since the Pergrande Civil War. Things have been bad since the Centari line usurped the throne.

Lucy glances down at herself, tugging on her top absentmindedly. When she entered Pergrande the cultural differences had nearly made her turn back. The soldiers were in golden colored armor from head to toe; the women covered in long dresses, red and brown in color, flowing and nearly sheer in some places. While Lucy didn't consider herself underdressed in her long tunic and brown sleeveless jacket, she knew very well that she wouldn't blend in with the natives.

She was unfamiliar to them, and that made them watch her. Eyes have been on her for the last two weeks since she first entered Pergrande, the stares only growing worse the closer she came to the capital. It was unnerving, among other things. Every time a soldier stared she couldn't help but think they were peeling back the layers of her skin, searching for the spark of magic in her blood.

Her fingers twitch at her sides, Lucy leaning back further against the wall behind her, rock scraping at her skin through her jacket. It's uncomfortable, but she hardly notices, her mind elsewhere as she waits, the alley suffocating.

At least she had the sense to wear the colors of Pergrande, Lucy thinks, tugging at the long, red tunic she had adorned back in Fiore. She doesn't remember where she bought it, just that she liked the delicate golden design on the front and the way it matched perfectly with a pair of long, striped socks she found the same day. Lucy never thought they would come in handy, but now she's glad she bought them. She doesn't stick out quite as much with the palette as she would wearing the blues common in Fiore.

Of course, she still looks like an outsider. She hasn't seen any other women wearing shorts, or baring as much cleavage as she is. Everyone is covered shoulder to ankle, and while Lucy has kept herself mostly covered in her long gloves and socks stretching up her thighs to attach to the bottom of her knife holsters. Lucy's gotten more than one look from the men milling around the city, something she's loath to think about.

Her foot taps absentmindedly against the cobblestone beneath her, a steady rhythm building as she waits. Her meeting with Cobra is supposed to be at twelve bells, but she knows better that to expect him on time. He's always late for their meetings. She would have stayed in the room she rented, away from the gloom of the city and the watchful eyes, had she not felt like she was crawling out of her skin in that room.

Lucy stills suddenly, a shadow shifting at the other end of the alley. Her breath catches in her throat, her fingers jumping to the holsters on her thighs, curling around the single knife she allowed herself to carry through the city. She moves to brandish it, hoping the threat will work, but she stops when she sees the familiar face walking towards her, Cobra amused.

Slowly, Lucy wets her lips, trying to remember how to greet him in Pern, the common tongue of Pergrande. "You're late," she drawls, voice low as she glares at Cobra from the corner of her eye. Her jaw clenches in irritation when he shrugs off her anger, unconcerned with the veiled threat in her tone.

"Actually," he corrects her, smirking faintly when the clock tower in Ðüskell's square chimes loudly, signaling nine bells, "you're just early." He speaks to her in their mother tongue, waving off her poor attempt at Pern, and Lucy huffs, sneering at him.

She shifts slightly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one is watching them before speaking to him in Fioren. "I don't have all day to wait for you, Cobra." It isn't a gentle reminder, a hard edge to her words. Her hands clench into fists, the bag tossed over her shoulder feeling heavier than before.

Cobra snorts, rolling his eyes as amusement flickers across his face. "Five minutes isn't going to kill you, Kelfie," he says, the old nickname mocking on his tongue. Kelfie and Cobra are an old joke between them, Cobra for his love of snakes, and Kelfie for her supposed resemblance to the catlike creates wandering the desert. They're little things, no larger than a common house cat, but they have a vicious reputation for ripping out the throats of much larger animals.

Slowly, Cobra slips his hands deep into the pockets of his long coat, completely relaxed as he leans sideways against the alley wall, his one red eye trained on her.

Lucy bristles at his words, both because of the name and the calm tone of his voice. He knows exactly what she's risking by being here. "Don't call me that," she spits halfheartedly, annoyed but pleased to see him regardless. It's been nearly a year since they were last in contact, Cobra having gone silent until only three months ago. "Do you have it?" Her words come out softer this time, a sigh heavy in her voice.

"Of course I do," he snorts back at her, narrowing his one good eye in offense. He's nothing if not reliable.

She rolls her eyes. "Than _give it_ to me." Lucy crosses her arms tight across her chest, fighting back a wince at her tone. She doesn't mean to be so snappish, not when it's been so long since she last saw him, but she has no business being in this city. Her trade with Cobra isn't exactly legal, and more than that, Pergrande has always been violent to her kind. If anyone knew what she is she would be executed by twelve bells.

Lucy takes a step towards Cobra, but he holds up a hand to stop her, shaking a finger in her direction. "Not so fast," he warns her, clucking his tongue. "How do I know you're the _real_ , Lucy?" She can't tell if the flash in his eyes is amusement or not.

"What?" Lucy frowns at him, taken aback.

Cobra only sends her a smirk in return. "Am I supposed to trust the Fae and their glamour?" he asks lowly, glancing over her shoulder at the mouth of the alley before his eyes jerk back to hers, questioning.

She only sighs again. "You know I can't glamour," she tells him in hushed Fioren, mindful of the eyes and ears that hide in the shadows of Ðüskell. A glamour is a rare Faeborne ability, one practically gone extinct after the Pergrande Civil War. Some can still partially master the ability, able to change their eyes or the hair, perhaps the shape of their nose or their lips with enough practice.

"No," Cobra corrects her, again wagging that finger in her face, "you say you can't glamour. There's a difference." This time she knows he's only joking, her irritation spiking.

A sound reminiscent of a growl pulls from her throat, Lucy's eyes narrowing dangerously. "Erik," she spits, using his real name for the first time in years, "I swear if you don't—"

He cuts her off quickly, seemingly holding back laughter. "Now I believe you." The old scar cutting across his right eye crinkles at the edge when he sends her a familiar smile, though there's something tight about it.

Lucy stares at him for a long moment, realizing he's just as tense as she is, his fingers playing with the Balisk venom she knows he keeps in his pocket, the Joya Viper venom able to melt the flesh from people's bones. It's an old nervous tick of his, a comfort to him. Despite being in Pergrande for nearly three years now, he's just as wary of the city as she is, he's just better at hiding it.

Rolling her eyes, Lucy sends him a tightlipped smile as she holds out her hand, golden eyes burning against his, unamused. "Just give it to me," she demands slowly, fingers twitching impatiently. It comes out softer than she means it to, Lucy understanding the hesitance buried in his eyes, though they don't have time for it. Not now.

Cobra stares back at her for a long moment, his half-grin slipping from his face, expression pensive. For a moment he rocks back and forth on his feet, almost swaying with the faint breeze that sweeps through the streets of Pergrande. He wets his lips suddenly, hand shifting against the fabric of his coat before he pulls a small vial from within, glass tinged blue and a cork tightly wedged through the opening. Cobra holds it delicately in one hand, pulling a leather pouch from the other pocket before handing both items over to her, careful not to drop either of them.

"What does Makarov need with Encan fire viper fangs?" he asks as he shifts them into Lucy's grip, a finger tapping against the side of the vial. "And their venom."

There's an edge to the question, but she ignores it. Lucy pulls open the pouch, squinting to see the slightest glint of a fang from within, pleased. "I don't know," she tells him, shoving the pouch into the bag tossed over her shoulder. "I probably don't want to know." She holds up the vial into the light, shaking it slightly. "Is it pure?"

He sends her an irritated look, huffing at her. "I milked the snake myself," he informs her, bringing a small smile to her lips. "It was not pleasant."

Her smile widens. "I thought you liked snakes," Lucy muses, a mocking edge to her words. She slips the vial into her bag, silently reciting a prayer to one of the old Gods to keep it safe. She doesn't know exactly what Cobra went through to get the venom, but she can't risk losing it.

"You can't charm a fire viper, Lucy."

"Maybe you can't," she drawls back. She crosses her arms again when she turns back to him, weight shifting from one hip to the other. Her snorts at her insinuation and Lucy manages to grin back at him, relaxing despite herself.

Cobra wets his lips, staring down at her expectantly. "And did you bring what I wanted?" he asks. His hands slip from his coat, fingers twitching eagerly. She rarely sees him so excited Cobra more content to brood alone than show genuine enjoyment for anything. He always got along fantastically with Jellal because of it.

"Of course I did." Lucy clucks her tongue, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the question. She's always made good on her deals, especially those with friends. Cobra is one of their biggest suppliers outside of Fiore. She wouldn't insult him by going back on a promise. "And I'll have you know they weren't easy to find. _Or_ to get through Bosco with."

Lucy was nearly detained at the border, a pair of guards stopping her and searching her bag for anything illegal. She would have been caught and arrested for smuggling if it weren't for the magic lacing her bag. It doesn't reveal anything she doesn't want it to.

Cobra waves off her complaint and this time she does roll her eyes as she pulls her bag from her shoulder. Her hand disappears inside the mouth of the bag, Cobra watching eagerly as she feels around for only a moment. Her fingers brush against the smooth surface of a wooden box, indents in the wood where Makarov carved an enchantment. A failsafe incase anyone did manage to find the secrets of her bag.

She lifts the box from her bag carefully, aware of how precious the contents are. If she were to drop them not only would she lose out on her deal with Cobra, but her entire trip would have been for nothing.

Cobra snatches the box from her hands, his fingertips tracing the carving in the wood for a moment before he unlatches it, humming to himself as he sees what's inside. "Oh, they are beautiful," he whispers, more to himself than her, as he lifts a small, pale object from the box.

"What in Frell's name do you need Veridian Viper eggs for anyway?" she asks, more curious than she'd care to admit to him. She was nearly killed by one of the adult sand snakes trying to get to those eggs, a part of her wants to know what all of the trouble was for. All Lucy knows is that the eggs have become something of a delicacy this far east. "I didn't think you were one to eat snake eggs."

"I'm not going to eat them." Cobra shoots her a nasty look, his nose wrinkling at the mere thought. "I'm going to hatch them," he corrects, his eyes alight with something mischievous. "And then I'm going to sell them." He grins at her over the lid of the box before closing it with a snap.

Lucy gapes at him for a moment. "Are you mad?" she snaps at him, taking a step forward until she's only a breath away from him, Cobra staring down at her as she props her fists against her hips. "Even transporting the eggs is illegal." It isn't something she should have to remind him of, given their situations, but the sheer stupidity of the claim makes her second guess using Cobra as a supplier.

He only snorts in return. "And yet, here we are." He slips the box into a pocket sewn on the inside of his jacket. Wetting his lips, Cobra glances down at her, smirking at the disapproving look she sends him. "Don't give me that look." He clucks his tongue, looping an arm over her shoulders and steering her towards the mouth of the alley. "They sell enough to make people kings these days," he tells her, almost mockingly.

She peers at him from the corner of her eye, pressing a hand to his chest and stopping them before they can step onto the street. Lucy shifts to face him. "So I nearly get myself killed getting those eggs and you make off with several thousand crowns?" she asks, voice light, though there's a sour note to the question.

Cobra blinks back at her innocently, either not understanding the severity of the question or simply not caring. Lucy would bet money on the later. "That would be what I'm saying, yes." He tries to lead her onto the street once more, but again she stops him, turning on her heels until she's blocking his path.

"I want fifty percent of the profit." It isn't quite a demand, but it doesn't sound like a suggestion either. She purses her lips, tilting her chin and wishing not for the first time that she was taller. Lucy has no real business asking so much from him, she knows, but if she's going to stick out her neck for him and risk so much for a dozen eggs than she wants more than venom and fangs that are of no use to her.

He frowns back at her, his brows knitting together in confusion at the request. "What do you want fifty percent for?" He tries to slip around her, but Lucy pins him with a stare that makes him go still.

Despite the two of them being companions for years, he's always been unnerved by her Fae heritage, and he once said that her entire family had eyes that could pin even the boldest of men and make them wither.

"For doing your dirty work." Getting the eggs wasn't easy, nor was transporting them, and she won't be scammed by Cobra, of all people. He should know better than to cheat her out of a deal by now, but he never has been the best learner, despite his wit.

Cobra wets his lips before taking his bottom lip between his teeth and worrying the flesh. He frowns at her, mulling it over, though only for a second. "I'll give you thirty," he bargains, holding out a hand for her to shake.

"Fine." She ignores the offering but allows him to place his arm back around her shoulders.

"And you have to bring me five more eggs," he tacks on, nothing sly about the way he says it.

Lucy purses her lips. "Deal," she agrees easily, his terms nothing unexpected, "but I won't bring them to you in Pergrande again." Her voice dips into a whisper as she says it, Lucy wetting her lips as he leads her down the busy streets towards the main square of Ðüskell. The morning markets have already begun for the day, and she knows he must be eager to return to his shop.

He's always been fussy about leaving his store in the hands of others, even back when he lived in Magnolia for a time. He never was one for trusting others.

Her gaze sweeps around the streets, unfamiliar faces a blur around her as Cobra leads her through the tangled web of strangers. Lucy's fingers twitch as she catches the eye of a passing city guard, the man's gaze lingering on her as he passes. She shrinks against Cobra's side, wishing she could disappear, the heat of a dozen gazes burning against her, as if they all know what she is.

"Fine," he says, echoing her agreement from earlier and startling her from her thoughts. His grip tightens around her shoulders and Lucy tucks herself closer against his side, taking comfort in his familiar presence. "I might have business in Minstrel soon. How does that sound?"

Lucy chews her bottom lip for a long moment, swallowing thickly as her skin crawls, magic thrumming through her veins in time with her rapidly beating heart. She wants nothing more than to leave this city as soon as possible, but her business isn't finished in Ðüskell. Not yet. "Anywhere's better than here," she murmurs back to Cobra, her fingers absentmindedly curling around the fabric of his coat. She manages a tight, bitter smile, and Cobra squeezes her shoulder gently.

He wets his lips, dipping his chin slightly until his mouth is nearly pressed against her ear. Lucy leans into the touch, playing the part as they pass a group of women. "You know I wouldn't have asked you here if I didn't need to," he whispers, an apology lacing the words. Again, he squeezes her arm, his grip tighter than before.

She sighs, eyes squeezing shut tightly before she forces herself to meet his gaze, managing a small smile for him. "I know, Erik."

He knows the dangers of her being in Pergrande just as well as she does, how much she's risking just by entering the capital. They've always agreed to meet somewhere in the middle before. Joya usually, sometimes Bellum if he can't travel as far. He wouldn't ask her to such a dangerous place without a good reason, not when he needs her for information just as much as she needs him.

Lucy being here is as much a risk to his life as it is to hers. She'd be executed for the magic burning in her blood and Cobra would be taken to trial for conspiracy against the crown.

It wouldn't be a fair trial.

They continue down the streets in silence for some time, the sky growing dark as clouds drift over the city. Rain, she thinks, perhaps a storm, though she can't be sure. It's rained quite a bit since she entered Pergrande, a chill creeping through the air. The Pergrande Kingdom has a nasty winter, nearly as bad as the icelands in the north. Storm country, they call it. Good for illegal business. It's harder to track criminals in a storm. The Berserkers can't follow their scents.

Cobra's boots make a wet slapping sound when they connect with the damp cobblestones, rain water clinging to the streets from the night before. A drizzle starts, Lucy shivering despite her coat, and Cobra pulls her closer, due to the cold or something else she can't be sure.

Ducking his chin to breathe against her ear, Cobra clears his throat, speaking to her in Pern, the language strange on his tongue. "They've got eyes on me, Lucy," he tells her, grip tight on her shoulder. His throat bobs with a harsh swallow, Cobra careful to keep his voice even and low as they weave through the streets.

She casts him a quick glance, a muscle in her jaw jumping as she clenches her teeth. "The crown?" Her Pern comes out broken, but intelligible enough, the question thick, loaded with something secret.

Cobra's business here has always been secret and illegal as hers, his business in illicit trade and secret selling. He's their eyes and ears in the capital, Cobra knowing practically everything there is to know about Pergrande and the royal family, placed as a spy by the Triumvirate, though none of them would admit to it. He can't be compromised.

"Someone's tongue was loose," he replies simply, something bitter and mocking creeping into his tone. Lucy doesn't need to ask to know that he's already taken care of things. He's never had any sympathy for those who betray him, and Cobra always has been poetic with his sense of revenge. "They've been watching me for weeks. I couldn't leave."

She nods slowly, chewing her lip. At least it's a good excuse as to why he had to drag her all of the way to Pergrande. Their deal was too important to break, damn the consequences. "Can they pin you with anything?" She could pull some strings back in Fiore if she needs to, though the Triumvirate won't be happy about it.

He's shaking his head before she can finish. "No. No, they'll lose interest soon enough." She doesn't understand the assurance in his words, but she won't question him on it. Cobra has his methods and she rarely wants any part in them. It's best for her not to ask. Not when she won't like the answer. "I would have called this off, but I needed those eggs."

And Makarov needs the viper venom. Besides that, it was the excuse Lucy needed to come all of the way here. Her business with Cobra wasn't the only thing prompting her to face Ðüskell's hellgate.

"Speaking of Minstrel," she says suddenly, slipping back into Fioren when they turn down the street towards his shop, the sign over the store glowing brightly with some kind of crystal, snakes winding around the lettering, "I recently had business there myself."

Cobra's tongue flicks over his lips, his eyes wary as he peers down at her, jaw clenching slightly. "What kind of business?" It comes out as more of a growl than a question, and she knows he's already guessed the reason for her trip. It isn't often that she has business in the Golden City.

"I made a deal with your old guild leader," she tells him, though it's obvious. She never has other business in Minstrel and they both know it. While the country is friendly t those like her, there are plenty of spies in the Land of a Thousand Suns, and radical groups have been rising in recent years. It isn't as safe as it used to be.

Cobra practically sighs, a low sound leaving his chest. "You made a deal with Loke," he repeats after a moment, nodding to himself. His fingers drum against her shoulder briefly, each tap timed perfectly to show his annoyance. "Did he finally send you here to kill me?"

She smirks at the amusement in his tone. Ever since Cobra double crossed him three years ago, Loke has been sour. In the first months of Cobra living in Pergrande, Loke sent at least two men to follow him, though they've long been dispatched of. Their animosity is still strong, though Loke hasn't tried to kill him in some time and Cobra has yet to send him a package of deadly vipers.

"No," she tells him. "And even if he did, I wouldn't do it." Cobra is much too valuable for her to kill him over a petty grudge. Their business is their own and Lucy wants no part of it.

"I knew you cared," Cobra mumbles and it sounds like a joke, but she isn't quite sure.

She clears her throat. "You're our best supplier," she replies simply. It isn't the whole truth, but Cobra doesn't need a head bigger than his already is. He knows he's a valuable person, both for business and to her family, that doesn't mean she has to say it out loud.

Cobra merely hums in reply, his free hand slipping into his coat pocket. "So what did he want?" He pulls a ring of keys from his coat, not looking at her as he flips through them, their steps slowing as they near the shop. Cobra's arm drops from around her as they near the front door, and Lucy curls her arms around herself as she glances around the square, watching.

"You know of the King's jewel." It isn't a question. Cobra knows everything.

He falters as he flips through his keys, fumbling with them as they nearly slip through his fingers. His spine goes straight as she leans back against the stone wall behind her, not looking at him as she waits for him to speak. Cobra glances at her from the corner of his eye, his lips pressed into a thin line. "The one he always wears around his neck?" he asks lightly. "The one his family stole from yours?"

She quirks a brow, eyes snapping to his. "Did Loke tell you that?" She briefly mentioned it to the man once, though that was years ago, back before the bad blood rose up between him and Cobra. Back when things were far simpler. Even then, Loke wasn't one for sharing information so freely, especially not something about their kind.

Cobra huffs a laugh, his shoulders shaking. "No, no of course not," he tells her, maroon eyes flashing with humor as he looks at her, "I was eavesdropping." She snorts loudly at his self-satisfied smile, her eyes rolling. Of course he was.

"What does that have to do with Loke?" Cobra continues after a moment, glancing at her curiously, his brows knit together.

Lucy sighs, swallowing back her distain. "He wants me to steal it." The words are sour on her tongue, Lucy shaking her head slowly as she says it. She hadn't agreed to do it, not really, yet here she is. Loke timed it well, and she can't help but wonder if he knew she would be coming here.

"By yourself?"

She bristles at his tone, but understands the reasoning behind his surprise. It's dangerous, and Lucy isn't so much a fool that she would try to steal from a murderous king alone. "I'm more unassuming when alone," she tells him, swallowing thickly.

He snorts, finally unlocking the shop. "And more vulnerable," he grumbles, gesturing for her to step inside.

"Perhaps," she whispers as she slips by him. She shakes off her coat as she steps inside, ignoring Cobra's gaze burning against her back.

He's quite for a long moment. "If Loke really wants it you should tell him to get it himself. The greedy bastard." There's more venom there than she would expect from Cobra, but she knows what he means. Loke's always had a way of getting others to do his dirty work for him. It's why Cobra left the guild and why Lucy has never been tempted to join.

"We both know how Loke would react to that." He doesn't like being told no, especially not when it involves stealing something, but Lucy was never one of his carriers. Besides, she was never planning to give him anything. She doesn't steal for any gain but her own. Her family's gain.

That jewel doesn't belong to Loke as much as it doesn't belong to the King of Pergrande.

She turns on her heel to face Cobra, his eyes locking with hers as she straightens to her full height, her hands clenching into fists. He stares at her, his one eye pensive, expression unreadable as he holds her gaze. "What do you need, Lucy?" he finally asks her, swallowing.

She shifts her weight onto her right hip, foot tapping against the floor slowly. "Erik," she begins, dragging out his name before pausing. "Can you get me inside that castle?"

Cobra scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief, eye blown wide at her question. He murmurs something she doesn't catch, sighing heavily as he rubs his palm across his jaw, his weigh shifting from one foot to the other as his fingers run along the stubble on his chin. Quickly, he turns away from her, walking back to the door. He pauses there, staring out the window and looking out at the rain before he suddenly locks the door once again.

He turns on his heel as the door clicks shut, the sound piercing in the silence of the room.

Cobra looks her in the eyes as he gives a sharp nod.

* * *

 **AN: Hope you all enjoyed the new first chapter of Berserk lmao. You can direct reviews to the last chapter if you want! I'll be posting chapter two tomorrow, so watch for that!**

 **Notes:**

 **Locations:**

Pergrande

Ðüskell [Ju-skell]: Capital of Pergrande.

The standard currency of Pergrande is "crowns."

Language is called Pern


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Please note: this is a new chapter. During my rewrite of this story, I decided this chapter was necessary, so here it is!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Two**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

The passages of Castle Einyar are a winding mess, with doors leading nowhere and halls that seem to have no ends in sight. The walls and floors are made of white marble so clean cut it nearly looks like ice, her own reflection peering back at her from the smooth surface. Busts line the walls on either side of the long corridor Cobra leads her down, and Lucy knows immediately that they've been carved using Fae magic, carefully crafted in the name of some king long forgotten, the lines too perfect to be made from the hands of men.

Her breath fogs in the air as she exhales, a frigidness in the air, a stillness like she's never felt before. It's colder inside than it was outside, and she isn't sure why that is, though she doesn't like it. Her arms curl around herself protectively, Lucy fighting back a shiver as the cold air seems to follow the pair of them, right on their heels.

When she asked Cobra for help, she wasn't expecting much. He's always had resources, but he isn't a miracle worker. She figured she'd have to do the hard part on her own, though he always has had a way of surprising her.

Her eyes sweep around the hall, the castle seeming empty, though she knows that can't be the case. Einyar isn't a stronghold by any means, though the castle is fortified in more ways than one. The Berserkers are somewhere below her feet, locked away in the dungeons of Ðüskell, waiting for the King to call upon them.

And they aren't the only beasts in Ðüskell.

Lucy quickens her pace, on Cobra's heels as he takes a sudden, sharp turn. She doesn't miss a beat, turning with him, careful not to stumble. Neither of them make a sound as they turn the corner, minding their steps. The castle seems to echo with every move they make, even the slightest of sounds seeming thunderous in the vacant halls of Einyar.

It's unnerving, how quiet it is, but she won't take it for granted.

"What exactly is your plan cobra?" she murmurs, trailing behind him by only a step. Lucy glances over her shoulder briefly, her magic flaring beneath her skin, her fingers tingling with the force of it.

He hadn't explained anything when he slipped her inside the castle, a hastily thrown together bundle tucked under his arm and a sharp look in his eyes that demanded she ask no questions. He should know better than to ask that of her.

He doesn't look at her as he speaks, gaze locked on the passage before them. "Just trust me," he mumbles back, barely loud enough to hear over the nothingness surrounding them. His fingers twitch, flexing, and she catches the smallest glimpse of a knife tucked into his belt as his coat shifts.

She releases a soft snort, her eyes rolling as she locks her jaw. "Makarov told me not to trust people who say 'trust me' all of the time," she tells him, sarcasm creeping into her words. A conversation isn't the best at the moment, but they're alone and Lucy needs something to distract her from her own nerves.

"Do you always do what Makarov tells you to?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder at her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His good eye fixes on her, a familiar spark in them, and the twitching of her fingers ceases.

She holds his gaze for a long moment, pursing her lips as she mulls over the question. Finally, she wets her lips. "If I did, I wouldn't be here." Makarov was very clear about his concerns. They all were, but Lucy is nothing if not stubborn like the rest of them.

The Dreyars are all bullheaded.

Cobra turns away, though his pace slows a step until she's walking beside him, rather than behind him. "He told you not to come." It isn't a question and they both know it.

Lucy purses her lips, slipping her hands into her pockets as she avoids his eyes, staring directly ahead. "Not in so many words," she says, shrugging slightly. It was in his eyes more than anything else. He didn't say much to her before she left, only sent her a look that was more disapproving than anything, but he didn't try to stop her.

Not that he could have. He needed supplies and she was the only one willing to get them, Laxus busy training and Romeo too young and too inexperienced to travel to Pergrande alone.

"But it was implied." He looks down at her, quirking a brow as a small smile pulls at his lips. His voice barely rises above a whisper, both of them mindful of where they are, but she hears him clearly enough, the teasing lilt of his voice familiar.

She shrugs, the pair of them turning another corner, all of the twists and turns looking the same to Lucy, though Cobra appears to know exactly where he's going. She trusts him not to lead her astray. "You know how things have been here," she mumbles absently, frowning at a portrait on the wall, its eyes seeming to follow them as they pass. "Pergrande's practically on the brink of another civil war." Her lip curls back, gaze snapping back around.

"That's one way of putting it," he replies, huffing a laugh that isn't half as amused as it would normally be.

Pergrande has been in a bad state for years, practically since the first Civil War over a century ago. After the Centari line usurped the throne and murdered the previous royal family Pergrande has been in a violent state, small wars brewing on the country's borders.

"Are you going to tell me what the plan is or just keep stalling?" she asks Cobra lightly, knowing she won't get an answer from him, but needing to keep the conversation going. She doesn't like the silence in this place. It's too heavy, malicious in ways she doesn't understand.

She knows the rumors about this place. They all do. It isn't something she likes to think about, the violence of Pergrande spun into ghost stories she and her friends would tell around fires late into the night. Laxus and Cobra would take turns scaring them all, and Lisanna would scream every time, her voice shrill in the darkness, rattling them all down to the bones.

Cobra wets his lips. "Believe me, Kelfie," he starts, voice thick with something almost like guilt, "you don't want to know what my plan is." His throat bobs with a harsh swallow, Cobra gritting his teeth and making a muscle in his jaw jump.

"Erik," she murmurs, brows knitting together in confusion.

He glances down at her, only for a moment before his gaze jumps away. "Everything will be fine." It sounds like a lie, but she pretends not to notice. He knows better than to tell her a blatant lie without a good excuse, and at this point she can only hope he's right. They can't afford for him to be wrong, not when both of their necks are on the line.

"You'll forgive me if I don't believe you," she breathes back and he doesn't respond. He doesn't even look at her. Lucy lets it lie. She keeps pace with him as his steps quicken, his gaze darting around the hall twice before he suddenly reaches out and grabs her around the waist, making a hasty turn that throws them both of balance.

Her head snaps around, Lucy glaring up at him as he yanks her into a short hallway, a door cracked open at the end. Cobra wets his lips, chancing a look behind them as he hurries them along towards the door. He doesn't say a word as he shoves the door open wider, the pair of them slipping inside easily. The door shuts behind them, a lock clicking into place as Cobra releases her.

"Here we are," Cobra mumbles, sending her a wry smile when she looks at him over her shoulder. He gestures to the small room with a flourish, quirking a brow at her frown. Lucy looks around at "here", which isn't much at all. The room is hardly larger than a closet, nothing inside but a table pressed to the far wall gathering dust. Her nose wrinkles, brows narrowing as she looks around at the nothingness, unsure what he means.

Lucy wets her lips. "This is your plan?" she asks as he skirts around her, fumbling with the bundle under his arm slightly as he glances at her, trying to avoid her eyes. She still doesn't know what's happening or what exactly he plans to do, and her frustration is only growing by the minute.

Cobra dumps the bundle on he dusty table, sending a flurry of particles into the air and making them both cough. He unfurls the bundle, Lucy watching in silence as it reveals something pale and gauzy, a fabric she can't quite make out. A dress maybe, though she doesn't know what he would have her do with that. It's of no use to her at the immediate moment, given the situation.

"This is me helping you, yes," Cobra snaps at her after a long moment, stepping away from the table and gesturing her forward hurriedly. She clenches her teeth as she stares at him, not appreciating his tone, but she steps forward anyway, eyes flickering to what he's laid out on the table.

It is a dress. Pale lilac and nearly see-through in places, long enough to brush the floor as she walks. The style is vaguely familiar, a silver ring meant to loop around someone's neck, holding up the dress in the front. A golden belt is tossed on top, meant to cinch the fabric at her waist.

Lucy lifts the dress from the table, the fabric silky beneath her fingers, and looks back at Cobra, who still won't meet her eyes, his gaze on the floor. "How is this-" She means to ask how this is him helping, but she realizes what he means to do before the words can leave her mouth, recognizing the style of dress. "You want me to masquerade as a prostitute."

The metal band reminiscent of a collar should have been enough to realize that. The style came from Minstrel, the dress common in the sandy cities, light and airy to ward off the sun and the heat. In Pergrande it's a slaves' dress, meant for handmaids and prostitutes, but she knows which one she'll be pretending to be.

There's an air of warning to the words, rage creeping through her at the implication, though she tampers it down quickly, knowing he's only trying to help.

Her words hang heavy in the space between them for several long seconds, Cobra not knowing what to say and Lucy waiting for a dry response. And that's exactly what she gets. "You want an audience with the King," Cobra begins, shrugging slightly, though he doesn't appear as nonchalant as he usually does, "and I'm not a miracle worker."

Lucy snorts. That much is apparent. "Is this really the best you could do?"

"On short notice?" he asks her, leaning back against the door and raising a brow. "Yes." His fingers drum against his arm in an absentminded beat, the rhythm erratic but calming regardless. Cobra isn't usually so fidgety, though neither is she.

Lucy wets her lips, rubbing her thumb over the cloth in her hands once more before turning on her heel to meet his eyes. "What's the plan?" Lucy sets her bag on the table, dropping the dress down beside it as she shrugs out of her jacket, the familiar warmth leaving her in a rush. The chill of Einyar bleeds into her skin, seeping under skin and curling around her bones.

She tries not to shiver, from the cold or their haphazard plan, she isn't sure. If they aren't careful things could go very badly for the both of them, and she would never forgive herself for dragging him into something like this. Not when his wife Kinana is waiting for him at home.

Cobra sighs through his nose, fingers beating against his arm faster. "Get in. Seduce him. Get the necklace. Get out," he tells her simply, shrugging. "I'll watch the door for you, but after that you're on your own." He looks almost apologetic when he says it. Almost.

"Why do I bother," she murmurs, more to herself than him as she rolls her eyes. He makes it sound easy, but it's anything but that. They were lucky to get as far as they are now, a servant in the castle owing Cobra a favor the only reason they made it inside at all.

He watches her kick off her boots, expression impassive. "You said you wanted an in. I didn't promise anything else," he reminds her, an annoying little smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth.

"And what exactly do you expect me to do in there?" she snaps back at him, nerves prickling at her skin. "I'll be alone." Alone with a king known to slaughter her kind in the most horrid of ways. She'd be a liar if she said she wasn't terrified of facing that man alone, but she doesn't have many options at the moment.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at her. "And we both know you can take care of yourself," he tells her, words almost fond. His gaze softens slightly as he stares at her, though the look disappears in an instant. "Besides, I'm sure you have something in that bag you can use." He gestures to the magic bag resting on the table, and Lucy doesn't have to tell him that he's right. Cobra's expression hardens suddenly. "Now hurry up and change. I believe his majesty will be returning to his room soon." His expression slips into one of disgust, and Lucy's nose wrinkles as well.

"Wonderful," she murmurs, clucking her tongue. Cobra keeps staring, waiting for her to make a move, and she levels him with a pointed look, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Now turn around."

He does so quickly, cracking a joke that she chooses to ignore, though she snorts loudly to let him know he isn't nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Cobra makes a show of covering his one eye with his hand, promising not to watch. And though his tone is mocking as he says it, exaggerated, she knows he means it.

They're both quiet as she undresses, Lucy chewing on her lower lips as she pulls her top off over her head, increasingly aware of the rustling of her clothes as the cloth scrapes along her skin. Her gloves follow, landing on top of the growing pile of her clothes on the table. Lucy undoes her belt slowly, the metal clanking together, and she bites at her lip harder, the sound echoing through the small space. As she unclips her knife holsters from her thighs and rolls her long socks down her legs Lucy wonders exactly what she's going to do when she meets the King.

A large part of her wants to kill him for everything he's done, for the horrors he and his family have put her kind through over the last century, but there are too many risks. She doesn't know what sort of charms he might have tied to him, or who else might be in that room with them.

She'll have to find something else, one of her potions or a poison from Cobra. Something besides a knife.

"You don't have to do this," Cobra says suddenly, still facing away from her. His foot taps against the ground in a steady rhythm, fast paced and matching her pounding pulse.

Lucy glances at him over her shoulder, fingers pausing as she unwinds a small braid from her hair. She purses her lips, shaking out the rest of her hair in silence, letting his words hang heavy between them for a moment. "No," she agrees, glancing back at the collared dress, "but I'm going to."

He sighs. "I was afraid you'd say that," he grumbles, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.

"Did you really expect me to turn back now?" She lets out a little laugh, unfurling the dress and slipping the pale fabric on over her head. The fabric tickles at her bare skin, and she slips the metal collar around her throat slowly, magic pulsing in her fingertips as she gets it to open, bending it just enough to put it on. The skirt of the dress scraps along the ground, her back left bare and cold.

Cobra snorts. "No, you're too much of a pain in my ass for that."

It's almost pretty, the dress. The color isn't as violent as the bloody reds of Pergrande, and the Minstren cute of the dress is lovely, complementing to most figures. Lucy reaches behind herself, brushing her hair away from the collar at her throat, her fingers finding the long fabric of the dress's skirt where it's attached to the back of the collar, cutting a line down the center of her back.

Lucy smiles slightly. Grabbing the belt from the table, she loops it around her waist careful, cinching it as tightly as she can manage. "You're one to talk," she grumbles back, wetting her lips as she gathers her clothes and shoves them into her bag haphazardly.

Her hands hover over the bag for a moment, her fingers twitching slightly as she stares down at it, something beckoning her to reach into the bag once more. Lucy hesitates briefly, unsure, but allows her fingers to slip back inside, her hand finding something immediately.

She pulls back, a small pouch resting against her palm, and her lips press together, her eyes narrowing slightly. Lucy doesn't question it, trusting the bag to give her what she needs, even if she doesn't understand it. Her finger traces the silver seal sewn into the deep purple fabric for only a moment before she reaches behind herself, tucking the pouch beneath the gold belt at her waist, hiding it.

Lucy turns on her heels, the floor cool against her bare feet. She stares at Cobra's back for a moment, hands smoothing out the creases in the dress as she ignores the heat of the small cloth bag hidden at the base of her spine, tucked away for a reason she doesn't yet understand. "You can turn around," she tells him.

His head turns to the side, his good eye looking at her, though he doesn't turn around. For a long time he just stares, observing her without saying a word, and she waits for him to speak, knowing there's something on his mind. Cobra wets his lips, his hands curling into fists. "If you need me in there, you yell, understand?" he says, so low she almost doesn't hear him.

Slowly, she nods, shifting her weight onto her right hip. "I will." He nods at her sharply, turning back to the door, his fingers curling around the knob as she lifts her bag from the table, holding it loosely between her fingers. "And Cobra?" He stops mid-turn, glancing at her again. "Thank you," she whispers.

He holds her gaze for a long moment, his lips twisted into a small frown. Lucy stares back, trying to force a small smile onto her face, though it falls flat, neither of them reassured by the situation. Slowly, he swallows, his gaze ripping away from hers as he gives her a brief nod.

XXXX

Cobra leads her down the hall with a hand latched around her wrist, making a show of tugging her along behind him, Lucy keeping her eyes to the floor as they pass several soldiers and servants on their way to the King's chamber. It's much busier in this wing than it was in the servants' quarters, eyes following them as Cobra drags her along, Lucy playing her part as best she can.

She isn't entirely sure how to act as a prostitute of Pergrande, and they didn't have the time for him to teach her, assuming he would know anything himself. It's the hard now, getting into the room without being stopped. Guards are posted on every corner, sentries mostly, thin and young, fresh-faced. Newer and hopefully easier to fool.

Cobra squeezes her wrist slightly, gaining her attention, and she peeks up at him through her lashes, careful to keep her expression from shifting. He stares back for a moment, expression stony, his intent clear, a warning for her to keep her mouth shut unless he speaks to her himself.

It's safer that way. Proper, given the circumstances. And Cobra knows Pergrande better than her. He knows what he's doing.

At least she hopes he does.

His grip on her slacks slightly as she quickens her pace, still lagging behind him, though wanting to get things over with faster. They're on a tight schedule. Cobra's source gave them a time and a place, and Lucy knows she won't get another chance to do this, not for some time.

She has to do this now.

Cobra slows as they take a turn, his fingers tightening around her wrist as she glances up slightly, peering through her lashes at the white walls and the bloody red carpet leading towards an ornate door. Lucy squints at the pale door, gold filigree curling around the outer edges, shinning as it catches the light.

Her magic flairs suddenly, and she sucks in an angry breath as she stares at the wood, old magic emanating from the door, Fae magic. It's an Ellyra, a Godstree. Something sacred.

A low hiss escapes from between her teeth, but she catches herself quickly, steeling her expression before anyone around them can notice. Cobra glances down at her, a warning in his eyes as he ducks his chin, speaking directly into her ear. "Don't say a word unless I tell you to," he demands, eyeing the Guards watching them from either side of the door.

Lucy doesn't react, save for a slow nod, not daring to speak as they come within range of the men.

Cobra tugs her forward again, and Lucy keeps her head down, aware of the eyes on her, but not foolish enough to return the looks with one of her own.

The Guards straighten as they come closer, one even reaching for the knife at his belt. She tries not to snort at that, realizing how young both boys are, no older than her, perhaps even younger, and jumpy at that. "Halt," one of them calls out, and Cobra jerks her to a stop, his hand leaving her wrist to curl around her upper arm.

He smiles at the men, tilting his chin so that his hair falls away from his scarred, milky colored eye. The guards sill slightly as he stares at them, the discolored eye unnerving to most. "Excuse me, Gentlemen," he says, sending them a tense smile as he gestures to the door between them. "I have business in this room."

When neither of them move, Cobra sighs heavily, sending them an irritated look as he tugs Lucy forward gently. This time she does look at the guards, meeting the eyes of the one closest to her and batting her lashes at him. He swallows thickly, turning red around the collar as she continues to stare at him.

"What business?" the man croaks out, Lucy fighting back a smile at the breathy sound that leaves him. Faeborne have always been stunning to look at, no matter how diluted the blood, and that's something Lucy's always used to her advantage. Men are far more likely to trust a pretty face.

Cobra wets his lips, shifting her so that she's partially in front of him, her hair curling around her face and the thin, gauzy fabric of her dress clinging to her curves. The men watch her and they don't look closely at the rumbled piece of paper he pulls from his coat, emblazoned with a golden seal in the shape of a rose. "My orders were to bring this lovely little dove to the King," he informs them. "A gift from Angel and the White Rose."

One of the guard's eyes flickers towards the paper at the mention of the brothel, but only briefly. "She yours?" he asks instead, watching Lucy curiously. She blinks back slowly, lips curving into a coy smile.

"She's new," Cobra says, "only been here three days. All the way from the western coast of Sin." He chuckles, sending the men a knowing look. "You know how those girls are."

The older of the pair makes a soft sound of agreement, but the younger one, the one still staring at Lucy, frowns slightly. "You should have thought twice before bringing her here," he tells Cobra, his eyes leaving hers briefly before coming back.

Cobra shrugs, still smiling, though it's growing more brittle by the moment. "We needed the money," he tells them simply, the lie slipping through his teeth with ease. Everyone knows the White Rose is more profitable than other brothels in Ðüskell, the owner Angel taking far better care of her girls than most.

The older guard snorts, shaking his head slowly as his eyes creep over to Lucy, glancing her up and down appraisingly. "I hope it's worth her life," he says, almost earnest, and Cobra stiffens at her side from a second, hardly enough for them to notice, but Lucy feels something in her chest grow tight.

"We can always get more girls," is all he says.

The guards nod, and the three men exchange brief words before the doors are suddenly pushed open, Cobra leading her inside quickly and allowing them to shut tightly behind them.

He walks her into the center of the room and hands her her bag, his lips pressed together tightly as he glances over his shoulder at the door. Outside, the clock tower chimes loudly, visible from the large window looking over the kingdom. Lucy doesn't have a moment to breathe before he yanks her in for a quick hug, squeezing her tightly around the middle before pulling back before she has the sense to hug him back.

Cobra stares down at her, worry clear in his eye, and she opens her mouth, needing to say something, but not knowing what.

He shakes his head, cutting her off before she can begin. "Don't," he snaps at her, gaze hard. "Don't say anything. Just get home, okay? Laxus will have my head if you don't." She lets out a little laugh, but it's hollow and they both know it. Cobra continues without prompting. "You have thirty minutes before they get suspicious, and that's being generous," he warns her. "You better be long gone by then."

He walks away without another word, heading back towards the door, and as he reaches for the knob, Lucy speaks without realizing it. "Thank you," she breathes after him. Cobra stills, but doesn't look at her as he shoves the door open and slips outside, letting the door click shut behind him.

The sound echoes through the room.

And she waits, but not for long.

Lucy places her bag on the nearest table, taking a moment to glance around the room, her eyes lingering on the window, knowing that will be her escape. It's still early, dawn barely breaking over the horizon. She should be able to get down without anyone seeing her, though it might take time that she doesn't have.

Thirty minutes.

Lucy walks over to the window to keep from pacing and presses a hand to the ornate glass, tracing a swirling pattern along the surface before her fingers slide lower, searching for a latch at the bottom. She grins wolfishly when she finds it, relaxing when she allows the window to click and unlock, the window swinging open a hair.

She isn't locked in and that's all she needs to know.

Time passes quickly as she waits, staying near the window, both for a quick escape and also because of the morning light filtering in, shimmering around her and casting shadows on her face. Lucy worries her lip as she waits, lowering herself onto the seat below the window. One hand reaches behind her, feeling for the pouch tucked beneath her belt, a slow breath leaving her when she feels it pressing to her spine.

It takes mere minutes for her to hear a brief exchanging of words from outside the door, low voices unintelligible as they speak in Pern, Lucy too far away to translate. It doesn't take long for her to understand.

The door creaks as it's forced open, a tall figure slipping into the dark room, a figure she doesn't recognize. Lucy straightens immediately, rising from her position on the window seat as the King of Pergrande steps into the room before her, looking nothing like she imagined he would.

He's perhaps forty, no older, young but not a new ruler by any means. She's heard tales of the things he's done and been witness to just as many, though this is the first time she's ever seen his face. It's unremarkable, his hair dark and his eyes gold, seeming to glimmer in the light as he looks at her.

There's something strange about those eyes, but she doesn't dwell on them, her gaze flicking to the gem at his throat, the amulet exactly where she knew it would be. For his part, the King seems enthralled, staring at her unabashedly and tracing the curves of her figure with his eyes. Lucy straightens further, tilting her chin up as his eyes rake over her, unassuming. She takes sick satisfaction in the interest on his face.

"And who are you, Little Dove?" he asks lowly, voice even as he walks into the room, taking slow, calculated steps towards her. Her gaze flicks back to his eyes, ripping away from the amulet around his neck and meeting his eyes. She tenses as she looks at him, The Centari King staring at her like he's some kind of wolf, his gaze peeling back the layers of her skin to see inside. Her skin crawls as he continues to drink her in, stopping halfway across the room.

He has no power over her. Not when he's without his dogs. That's what she needs to believe.

Lucy takes a slow breath, willing her hands not to shake as she takes a step towards him, swinging her hips and looking at his through half-lidded eyes. "No one of consequence," she murmurs back, voice lower than usual, as sensual as she's ever sounded. He continues to stare, frowning slightly, and she takes another step. "Would you like me to leave?" she asks, moving forward until she's only a few steps away from him. He follows her with his eyes, hypnotized by the flow of her magic creeping into the room and taking hold of him.

"No," he mumbles, eyes on her lips before traveling lower, Lucy shivering as he drinks her in. She flashes a smile, her lips curving back over her teeth as she reaches a hand behind her back, tugging the pouch from her belt and lifting it into the light.

His eyes are still on her as she traces the silver symbol with a finger, still smiling as she holds out one hand and pouring the contents of the pouch into her awaiting palm. A pile of, deep purple flower petals gather in her hand, Lucy grinning as she realizes what it is, her bag giving her exactly what she needed.

"What are you doing?" the King asks her, frowning as she crosses the little space between them, a breath away, close enough for him to touch.

Lucy looks up at him, her eyes flashing gold in the morning light, flaring with the power of her magic. "Lio Nanta Shee," she whispers, the Night Jasmine petals in her palm stirring at the spell, before crumbling into dust, a sleeping spell thick coating the powder in silver.

She exhales and the dust blows into his face.

* * *

 **AN: Next chapter will be the beginning of the revised chapters!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN1: Edited 2/24/18. Minor changes made throughout chapter.**

 **AN2: All right, here's my first new multi-chap fic :) It's fantasy, which is probably my favorite genre to write besides crime! Anyway, here's Berserk! There will be several allusions to Norse mythology here, but the setting does take place in Fiore! Side note: The clothing Natsu is wearing is the same thing as the cover to chapter 356! *finger guns***

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Three**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Natsu exhales through his nose, heat curling through the dark cell in little wisps. The fog of his breath is visible in the chilled prison, the air so old it burns his lungs, freezing him from the inside. It's a precautionary measure taken by Pergrande's ruler, the Centari King using the bitter cold to keep his Berserks immobilized until he asks of them. They can't bite the hand that feeds them if they can barely move. The icy winters used to be a part of them, the fire in the blood warming their bones, but they've been frozen for too long, that flame going out.

A low growl tears from somewhere deep in his chest, the guttural sound filling the iron cage and echoing off the walls. Another heavy puff of air leaves him, his breath floating towards the ceiling like smoke, just barely visible in the thin sliver of light pouring in through the eye-level window in the door, where the guards are meant to look in on them, watching to see if they've begun to break free from their chains.

They never do, however. Not the Berserks and certainly not the guards meant to watch them. The last guard Natsu saw was nearly three days ago, maybe four. He can't remember. Down in the prisons the days bleed together, irregular meals the only semblance of time.

Often, the guards don't bother to peer through the crack and look down at them as they're meant to. They merely slide food through the tiny slot in the bottom of the door, barely making a sound as they scurry off like mice. It's only the brave ones that dare to peek into the cells of the Berserks, most too afraid of the monsters that lie beyond the six inches of iron keeping them apart from the rest of the world.

Cowards, the lot of them. He can practically smell their fear as they walk through the cell block. There was a time when Natsu was younger, when he was less beaten down, less broken. Back then, he would growl and snarl and clash with the walls as they walked by, terrifying trained soldiers out of their skins. Men in armor scurrying away from a boy no older than fourteen, still gangly in the limbs and unable to fill out the heavy armor worn by northern Berserks. They would run in fear from boys with half their muscle, afraid of legends they never cared to understand.

Natsu used to enjoy the way they would quicken their pace, eager to get away from the beast locked beyond the wall, scared of children. Now, he wishes he had never made himself out to be the monster they see him as. Perhaps he should have known better than to make something monstrous out of himself. Over the years men's fear has left a sour smell in the air, like rotten fruit. It hangs in the air now, soaked into the very bones of the castle. There's no way to escape it.

Igneel would be disappointed if he was still alive. He always wanted Natsu to be gentle and kind, to fight for something worth protecting. Igneel wanted him to be better than the monsters of legend—to never live up to the bloodthirsty reputation and the kill rings and the senseless slaughter. Igneel wanted a new era, a better era. He wanted hope and the destruction of the Domus Flau and all of the other battle arenas scattered throughout the Ishgar continent.

He wanted them to be able to live, not just survive.

Sighing to himself, Natsu leans his head back against the grimy wall behind him, frost nipping at his skin harshly. His eyes slip shut, the hand at his side absentmindedly plucking at the ruby and gold fabric tied around his hips. Natsu's lips curve back in a snarl as his nail dig into the cloth harshly, threatening to tear straight through the heavy wool. He releases his grip a moment later, knowing better than to destroy the only thing keeping him from freezing straight down to the bone. The golden armor around his abdomen bites at his flesh where iron turns to skin, the icy air cruel as it swirls around him.

Berserks never have been one to wear much, preferring to keep their chests bare for war paint, for the runes that guide them into battle. Natsu glances down at his uniform, gaze tracing the simple dark pants and boots, the nearly wine red fabric with its gold trim secured around his hips in the colors of Pergrande: gold for prosperity and royalty and ruby for war. The shimmery golden armor that covers him from hip to halfway up his ribcage is the only metal they wear to war.

The armor is impractical, he knows. It leaves his chest completely bare to iron and arrow. His heart is exposed in the wake of war. The way of the Berserks is a strange one. At the height of their bloodlust they feel nothing, least of all pain. Excessive armor would merely slow them down, and that's something none of them can afford.

Natsu used to wonder why such a deep red was added to the national colors of Pergrande, replacing the ever present purple that had been used until the sixth reign, when Aldebaran Centari usurped the thrown from Rigel Kaine in the second Civil War. He thinks he's finally figured it out, after nearly one hundred years. The shift to the sixth reign coincides with Pergrande's usage of Berserks in war and the slaughter of the Fae race. Perhaps, the change was merely due to the new reign and the change in politics, that's what the public seems to think. However, Natsu knows better. Ruby is the color of blood and beasts. It signifies _carnage_.

The Kaines wanted prosperity, peace, and the color they chose was a deep purple becouse of it. The Centari line wanted something different, something red.

Against of sea of golden soldiers, it's the Berserks bathed in blood.

A low snarl rumbles deep in his chest, and he barely manages to smother the sound as he hears a guard pass by his door. They always become suspicious when they hear the snarls, the unrest in the ranks of their guard dogs. A bitter smile tugs at his lips, his teeth grinding together as he swallows down a growl. What he wouldn't give to be out of this cell and to rip through the army of Pergrande and leave it in _ruins_. He would gain great satisfaction from the end of the Centari reign.

Igneel always wanted peace, but even in death he can't grant his father that. Natsu tried for peace once to no avail—it's a lost cause. He can't bring Igneel peace, but he can avenge him. Of course, that would mean escaping from this icy Hell. The cold keeps him too weak to break out on his own, and the only times the Berserks are released from their cells are for training once every few days or when His Majesty sends one of them on a mission..

Natsu nearly sneers at the word. _Training_. They're death matches. Violence for violence. The rule of beasts. And even then, they're never unchained without the collars, their minds not their own.

Swallowing thickly, Natsu raises a trembling palm to the side of his neck, his fingers ghosting across smooth skin rather than gold and ruby—the jewel incrusted collars forged by fire and magic that sends them into a state of pure bloodlust. The pads of his fingers trace the old scar on the side of his throat. The bitter reminder of the death matches he faced in his short time in Fiore.

 _The air smelled of violence: blood and sweat and tears—the bitter taste of salt clinging to the roof of his mouth. Natsu wrinkled his nose, rubbing at it absentmindedly, only to rip his hand away a moment later as a shock of pain flashed through him. His hand came away red. Natsu blinked at the blood on his fingers, confusion sweeping through him._

 _His memory was fuzzy. The last thing he could remember was his mother handing him off to a strange man, tears streaming down her face as Natsu was dragged away. He remembered someone screaming then—him or his mother he had no idea. Her eyes were the last thing he saw, wide and horrified._

 _A metallic click broke the silence surrounding him, and Natsu froze at the unexpected sound, eyes narrowing as something like raw fear coursed through his veins. "You must have put up a fight, Little One." His head snapped around, eyes going wide as an unfamiliar voice breaks through the darkness. He smothered a gasp, shrinking back against the wall as a shadow moved across the wall. "Usually they don't beat around the young ones."_

 _A bitter chuckle flooded through the dark, damp room, followed closely by a hacking cough that sounded wet. Natsu squinted, trying to peer through the shadows at the stranger. Fear climbed into his throat, but he swallowed it down, hands clenching into tight fists. He could just barely make out the silhouette of a man sitting onto a few feet away from him._

" _Who are you?" Natsu croaked, voice cracking as he spoke, his mouth dry and sore. He tried to swallow, but his throat hurt too much. Wrinkling his nose once more, Natsu pressed a shaky finger against his neck, pulling back with a hiss as he brushes against a bruising spot._

 _The man leaned forward into the dim light surrounding Natsu, revealing wild red hair and dark eyes so cold that Natsu nearly flinched away. Then—a grin. Wide and toothy. A maw of fangs that caused Natsu's eyes to widen in realization. Another Berserk. "Name's Igneel, Kid," he greeted, tired eyes sparkling good-naturedly. He gave Natsu a quick once over, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as he squinted at Natsu's bruised throat: mottled blues and purples bleeding into each other._

 _He wet his lips. "I'm Natsu." He blinked up at Igneel, gaze flicking from his easy smile up to his kind eyes. He didn't seem threatening, but Natsu knew better than to trust strangers so willingly. His father always did tell him to not trust outsiders. Though, Igneel seemed friendly enough. Natsu figured that if the older Berserk had wanted to hurt him he would have done so._

 _Igneel nodded, clucking his tongue loudly. "Natsu, huh?" He let the name roll off his tongue slowly, almost tasting it. "You hold onto that name," he told Natsu, a low warning to his tone. His gaze was steely when he looked at Natsu, eyes black as night. "They'll try and take it from you, but don't you let them." He growled then, low and warning and Natsu pressed himself further into the wall. The threat wasn't directed at him, of course, but it didn't stop him from cowering before the older male._

 _Seeming to sense Natsu's fear, Igneel cut himself off, eyes softening when he caught Natsu's eye, an apology in his gaze._

 _Natsu released a shaky little breath, mulling over Igneel's words. "Who's they?" he mumbled, the question coming out as a tremble against his lips. They didn't good, whoever they may be. Not the way Igneel spat out the word like it was something poisonous on his tongue._

" _Very bad people," was Igneel's short reply, something clipped in his tone—final. He shifted closer, something jangling from the darkness. He shuffled into the low light and Natsu's eyes widened as he got a fell view of Igneel's scars and the iron chains encircling his ankles and throat. A gasp fell from his lips, but Igneel merely smiled again, this time far sadder than anything Natsu had ever known._

 _Natsu swallowed, curling tighter in on himself. "What are they going to do?" he whispered, not looking up at his new friend._

 _It was silent for several very long seconds, and when Igneel finally spoke up Natsu nearly missed it. "Make you hurt."_

" _I don't want to hurt," he told Igneel, tears burning at the back of his eyes."_

 _A hand was placed on his head, warm fingers brushing the hair away from his face. "I know, Little One."_

Igneel took him in after they met, taught Natsu everything he needed to know about fighting in the arenas and staying alive. _Fat lot of good that did him_ , Natsu thinks, snorting loudly. He nearly died his first time in the arenas. The only reason he's still alive is because his opponent, an older Berserk with graying hair and kind blue eyes, let him live. Natsu was six years old at the time and he remembers sobbing as a guard dragged him back to the cages. He remembers thinking that he was going to die.

He remembers that so many others did die.

The guard merely shoved him back into the cell he shared with Igneel, but not before giving him a sharp slap across the face. Igneel was furious about that, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, lest he face something worse than death. They couldn't bite the hand that fed them.

Natsu sighs through his nose, eyes slipping shut as he leans his head back against the rough wall behind him. He stretches his legs out in front of him, squinting at the damp stone floor and the metal walls. A puddle has been forming in the corner for days now, but it doesn't bother him. If anything, he's quite happy about the little pool. Having something to wipe off the blood and sweat is nothing short of a luxury in these cells. They're treated like dogs— _worse than dogs_ —despite how the King likes to sing praises about his hidden army of Berserkers.

He's heard the legends himself, from back when he and Igneel were still held at the Domus arena. According to some of the older Berserks or the occasionally kind guard, there were rumors about how the great King of Pergrande had an army of Berserks hidden behind his walls—how he would take them in and treat them fairly, so long as they agreed to join his army should he ever need them. That had been a dream to hear—that someone wanted them and would protect them. Berserks are strong, practically born to fight, but they aren't monsters.

They've never been monsters, but most don't bother to look past the blood and violence.

Igneel had promised that he would get the two of them to Pergrande for a better life. He said Pergrande would be better—they wouldn't be forced to fight. Natsu had high hopes then. He was so excited about the prospect of being free again. At that point, Natsu had been nearly ten and Igneel was nearing thirty—not half as old as some of the more senior Berserks, but growing weary with age due to the fights.

Not much about Igneel had changed in the few years Natsu knew him. Nothing but his eyes. Igneel's eyes were long dead before the King ever killed him. It wasn't as noticeable at first, but in those last few months Natsu could see the life practically draining out of his adoptive father. Once he noticed it, it was hard for him to stop seeing the death in his dark eyes every time Igneel would look at him.

It was hard, watching Igneel decay in front of him, as if he was rotting from the inside out, but not as hard as it was to lose him completely.

Natsu will never forget the day Domus Centari entered the great Domus Flau arena looking for Berserks to bring back with him to Pergrande. How he crept through their ranks, slithering like some sort of cobra in the sand. It wasn't until he and Igneel were forced to their knees in the dirt that Natsu realized the rumors were mostly lies. Domus Centari was indeed looking for Berserks for his army.

Only he didn't care if they came willingly or not.

The thirty Berserks kept at the Domus Flau were dragged out of their cells one by one and forced to their knees before the King. Natsu could remember the way the cold sand bit into his bare legs, clinging to the blood on his ankle from where he's been injured after a fight earlier in the night. He remembers being separated from Igneel, dragged to opposite sides of the arena facing each other. Igneel was cuffed, but the guards hadn't bother with Natsu, figuring him too weak to do much but sit and wait.

Natsu had never been so terrified before in his life. Not when he was taken from his mother. Not when he woke up in the dark with a stranger hovering over him. Not after his first fight or even his last. No, the most horrifying moment of his life was being shoved to his knees and forced to watch as the King of Pergrande slithered through the rows of them, picking and choosing the ones he saw fit for his army.

The rest were slaughtered.

Men. Women. Children. All brutally beaten by soldiers of Pergrande—tired and weak and still chained at the wrists and ankles with no way to defend themselves.

Natsu hadn't been able to close his eyes. He could only watch in horror as blood soaked into the sand—the snapping of bones and the blood curdling shrieks mixing into a terrible cacophony of sound. The King had reveled in it. Natsu could see it on his face. He enjoyed the way the Berserks screamed—the great beasts of legend reduced to pleading for their lives in the dirt, forced to kneel before a false king.

Igneel had mouthed something at him then, as the king continued perusing the rows. _Don't be scared_ , he told Natsu, lips moving quickly in the dark. _Don't be scared._

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, Natsu swallows down a sob building in his throat, unable to simply think about Igneel anymore, lest he lose himself completely to the beast residing in his chest—just waiting for a moment to rip through Natsu's ribcage and succumb to bloodlust. His nails dig into his palms, carving little crescent moons into his flesh and nearly tearing straight through the skin. He slackens his grip just the slightest, not wanting to bleed, but relishing the pain—it's the only thing that keeps him sane when he loses himself to his thoughts.

 _The King was close to Natsu—only a few Berserks down the row. There was a horrible, wet squelching sound from down the line and bile rose high in Natsu's throat, tears burning at his eyes as he heard a strangled cry come from Gerryn, an older Berserk that used to tell all of the younger ones fairy tales from his home country of Enca. Natsu didn't turn to look at the man, already knowing what the King had done. He kept his eyes locked on Igneel, green eyes locking with Igneel's darker ones as the King continued to creep closer and closer._

 _Natsu swallowed down the vomit in his throat, wincing as it lights a fire down his neck. His jaw locked tightly, teeth grinding together as he searched Igneel's face, looking for anything to tell him that things would be okay—that everything would be okay. A low whine tore from Natsu's throat before he could swallow it down and he began to hyperventilate through his nose, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps._

Breathe _, Igneel mouthed to him, trying to shuffle closer on his knees. A soldier kicked him back, sending Igneel's head snapping to the side due to the force of the blow. Igneel ignored the blow, turning back to Natsu a moment later. A bruise was quickly forming along his jaw and there was blood on his chin, but when he looked at Natsu he smiled—all sharp teeth and bloody gums. There was pain in his eyes, but he still managed a smile._ Breathe _, he mouthed again._

 _This time, Natsu managed a shaky breath, his heart beating wildly beneath his ribcage. He blinked away the tears, lips parting in another trembling breath. Igneel continued to mouth things at him, telling him to breathe and promising that things would be okay—promising that they'd stick together when this was over._

 _There was another sick sound from his left, a scream that was cut off early and something like metal sliding through flesh and bone. Across from him, a Berserk no older than Natsu let out a scream so heartbreaking that Natsu couldn't swallow back the sob in his own throat. The stench of death hit him hard, overwhelming all of his other senses in a rush. It burned his nose, curling through him like a sickness, and Natsu couldn't hold back the churning in his stomach any longer._

 _Bile rushed out of his throat, dripping down his chin and splattering against the sand, mixing with blood and tears, staining the dirt a violent rusty brown in color. A hiss came from his right and when Natsu looked up once more there was a look of absolute horror on Igneel's face._

 _A pair of boots stopped in front of him._

The chain around his ankles digs into his skin, so cold that it nearly burns. Natsu snorts, finding it ironic that the king has chosen to enslave them in ice. All Berserks are descendents of the ice bound lands of the far North. Ice once flowed through their veins and left them as one with the cold. That was years ago, generations have passed since those times and the ice is no longer forgiving to the Berserks.

Natsu very rarely feels the cold. His temperature runs so hot that it didn't used to bother him in the slightest. But he's been locked in this cell for over a decade now—only released for daily training and the occasional mission from the King—and suddenly the ice has begun to drain him. Briefly, he wonders if the King has used magic on the chains, using them to damped their strength. It's highly probable, given the King's fear and the Berserks strength. He wouldn't risk an uproar.

It was different, back when Natsu and the others were younger. They were easier to control when they didn't know their full strength. It wasn't until Natsu turned fifteen that they begun chaining him to the wall of his cell.

Cowards, the lot of them.

 _Natsu glanced up in horror as the man stepped in front of him, blocking his view of Igneel completely. His eyes rose slowly, taking in the fine armor the man wore, gold glinting brightly in the light cast by the fire on the other end of the arena. A billowing garnet cape brushed against the sand, the same color as the blood splattered across the man's chest. Natsu dared to look higher, cowering back once he saw the bright, ruby gem hung around the man's throat—the crown upon his head._

 _King Domus Centari stared down at him with a smile more predatory than any wolf's. A low whimper managed to tear from Natsu's throat before he could smother it and the King's smile grew—too large—too sharp. His eyes were a burning gold against his pale, sallow skin—a manic glint in his irises._

 _He felt like throwing up again, but managed to swallow it back, his jaw clenching tightly as he locked eyes with the King, sitting up straighter and trying to appear unafraid. That was what Igneel told him to do. He told him that Natsu should never show an enemy fear, because they would use it against him._

 _And Natsu wouldn't a false king use his fear against him. Not ever._

 _The King laughed down at him, crouching before Natsu with something akin to mocking on his face. He reached out to touch Natsu's face, but he snarled before the King could get close, lashing out with his teeth in order to bite the King of Pergrande._

 _A blow to the face sent his head snapping to the side, a yelp leaving him in surprise. Cold steel pressed to the side of his neck and sliced, cutting clear across the length of his throat. A roar tore through the air, but Natsu was in too much shock to register what was happening. He fell to the side with a wet gargle, hands groping blindly for the side of his neck, warm blood coating his fingers and leaving them slick and sticky. Natsu wheezed, green eyes wide and afraid as he found Igneel's eyes._

 _Natsu could only watch as the other Berserk lunged forward with a snarl, barreling through two soldiers to reach the King. A blade was shoved through Igneel's back before he could reach Natsu._

Something cool slides from the corner of his eyes, slipping half way down his cheek before freezing against his skin. Natsu grits his teeth, not bothering to wipe the salt away. It stings at his skin, but he ignores it with little more than a passing thought.

A soft click draws his attention to the door, his eyes sliding to the side to watch as the thick, iron door is shoved open slowly, creaking as it's hinges are forced to move. Natsu frowns, eyes narrowing lowly as his teeth clack together. It's far too early to be training time and he was fed nearly an hour earlier, food slipped under his door while he slept. The door clangs against the iron walls, and Natsu slowly watches curiously as a nervous looking man slips into his cell, no older than thirty with thin arms and a shock of red hair. Natsu's eyes narrow further and the soldier sends him a cold, almost nervous look.

As the man straightens, Natsu takes a long look at him, the guard all long limbs and a thin frame, gruff, but not nearly as scary as he wants to be. Natsu nearly laughs as the guard puffs up his chest, making himself look bigger, but he manages to swallow it down. Though, he can't fight back the small twitch of his lips.

Natsu could break this man if he wanted to. He looks like a wraith, a ghost of a soldier, and Natsu wonders what he's being punished for, subjected to the dungeons beneath the castle and forced to care for the Berserks.

The soldier clears his throat as Natsu eyes him in amusement. "The King requests your presence in the main hall," he tells Natsu, who quirks a brow in response, not bothering to stand even as the soldier looks at him expectantly. "He wishes to send you on a mission."

 _Requests_ , Natsu thinks mockingly, snorting in contempt. As if they have any choice but to comply. Natsu clucks his tongue, rolling his shoulders and listening as they crackle. He notes with some satisfaction that the soldier follows this motion, something fearful glinting in his eyes. "Do I have a choice?" Natsu asks gruffly, a low growl bubbling in his throat.

The soldier takes a step back. "No," he practically breathes back, wringing his hands as he avoids Natsu's sharp gaze. "You will do it, ja."

Natsu's tongue flicks over his lips. It's rare that any of them are sent on missions anymore, especially alone. Typically they're sent in waves, groups of them sent off to slaughter whoever the King deems fit. He wonders who enraged the King so much they've signed their own death warrant.

He grins suddenly, sharp canines on display as he smiles at the guard, gaining a sick satisfaction from the way the man squirms. "Well then," he says, voice throaty and gruff, "let's not keep him waiting, _ja_?"

* * *

 **AN: I'm hoping to put up another chapter later tonight and get started posting more updated chapters in the days to come, but I've been sick and busy with classes, so we'll see how that goes. I'm hoping things will go faster from here, but some chapters might have some major edits made, and that might take me a bit. Bear with me. I should be back to updating new chapters by Mid-March/beginning of April.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Minor changes made throughout 3/3/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Four**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

The walls are bone white, shadows flickering across them from the torch lights burning low. Water drips from the ceiling, colliding with the stone path with wet tinkling sounds—like ice shattering against the rocks. They keep the halls nearly as cold as the cells down below, the temperatures just low enough to cause a light frost to settle over the stone walls, but not enough to freeze the drips entirely.

Castle Einyar has been called many things: an ice fortress, a labyrinth, a castle build from blood and bones. And it's all of these things, the palace rebuild after the Pergrande Civil War. When the Centari family stole the throne, they had it torn down, piece by piece. A new era, they called it. A new beginning, and a bloody one.

They tell ghost stories about this place, people swearing that they can still hear the voices of the previous royal family and the screams of the slaughtered Fae under the Centari regime. At times Natsu thinks he can hear them too, the faintest of cries from the dungeons, so soft he can hardly tell if they're real or not. The soldiers tell the stories often, passing them back and forth in the dead of the night, alone beneath the castle with no one but the Berserks to hear them.

Natsu keeps his head down as the guards lead him down the hall, one on either side of him, hands already twitching for their knives as their nerves spike. He can practically smell their fear in the air—something acidic and foul, like vomit. His green eyes squint shut and Natsu sucks in an angry breath between his teeth, gulping heavily for air as the stench becomes too much. He can taste the decay on his tongue, rotten flesh and spoiled lemons, and it makes him gag. Swallowing down a grimace, Natsu locks his jaw, lips curving back in a barely there snarl.

The guards don't appear to notice his discomfort. Or rather, they simply don't care, not that he would expect them to. Natsu knows that they don't give a damn what happens to him or any of his brethren. They would probably relish the loss of one Berserk. One less monster in their midst. The soldiers of Pergrande have made several great rebellions in answer to the Berserks being added to their ranks, though none have ended well. Not for Pergrande's soldiers and not for the Berserks they fought.

The day Natsu was brought to Pergrande there was an armed protest at the city gates. Armed guards refused to let them through, calling them vile names, jeering and screaming. They murdered a Berserk that day. Natsu remembers his name was Kale. He was fourteen at the time and had made it his job to protect the younger ones stolen by the King.

The guards ripped him into six pieces and left him to the crows.

His Majesty granted them the same punishment as soon as he found them.

There was so much blood that day. So much blood and death and war. Even now, he can still smell it when he walks passed—can taste the metal on his tongue and hear their screams echoing through his head every time he closes his eyes. Natsu can't imagine it, having his limbs torn from his body and strewn so carelessly across the earth. To have his head severed and placed on a pike to rot and be eaten by the birds. What they did to Kale was a monstrous thing—to rip a fourteen year old boy to pieces is only something a monster could do.

It always makes him wonder who the real monsters are.

Yet the soldiers still blamed the Berserks for the deaths, as if the half-starved and weary children were the cause of the fight. If anything, they brought that on themselves, though what their king dealt them was in no way justice.

The soldiers can call the Berserks monsters all they wish, but that doesn't change the fact that they serve a beast far worse than anything Natsu could ever become.

Natsu glances sideways at the soldiers, their backs stiff and rod straight. They're on edge, ready for anything, though their form is weak. Natsu is faster than both of them, he could have both of their necks snapped before they could think to cry out, let alone draw their weapons. It would be easy to overpower them— _kill them_ , but he won't.

He won't become the monster they want him to be, not while he's still in control of himself. He promised himself a long time ago that he would never kill unless it was to protect someone else. Igneel taught him that. It was the rune his adopted father once used in battle and it is the rune Natsu now uses himself.

ᛉ

Algiz. Protection from enemies. Defense of that which one loves. That is what Natsu holds most dear to his heart. Every Berserk chooses a rune to honor for battle, paints it across their chest in blues and golds. Some choose success, others strength or wealth, some destruction and chaos. Obliteration. Igneel chose to honor those he loved, vowing to protect them until his last breath—and he did. He always did. At least Natsu can say Igneel died doing what he thought was right.

Now, Natsu will do the same. Protect. For as long as his heart is still beating he'll protect those he cares about. Though, everyone he's ever cared about is already dead or imprisoned in this frozen hell. He doesn't even know if most of them are still alive. They were so young when they were brought here, he can hardly remember any of the boys he was brought here with. Only Kale, and that's because the name was branded into his mind—the last words of a dead boy.

They asked Kale for his name before they killed him. After that it was only screams and shrieks. Kale didn't plead when they murdered him. He didn't cry or beg for his mother. Natsu thinks he would have. Not for his mother, but maybe for Igneel. He would have begged for help. Kale just accepted it, looked death in the eyes and accepted it.

Natsu remembers his rune being Uruz. Strength of will. Fitting, if nothing else. Kale lived up to it. There is no true Berserk code, no rules or restrictions to what they do or don't do. None but the ones they set for themselves.

 _To live and die by the runes_ , that's what Igneel called it. To honor them until the last breath, to follow it into death and what comes after.

It's poetic, in a way, though Natsu never has put much stock in poetry or flowery words. He always has preferred violence, loving the way the Berserk rage floods through his veins, his heart beating out of control until it's the only thing he can hear or feel. And maybe there's something poetic in that, but he digresses.

As they leave the Berserk hall the guards' fear begins to ebb away, disappearing like smoke. Natsu releases a shaky breath as the putrid stench clears, his shoulders going lax as he continues to walk between the two men. The snarls of several younger Berserks echo behind him, even after the iron doors are swung shut, but Natsu pays them no heed, knowing better than to run to their defense or try to break them out.

He wouldn't make it far. Not with the chains on his wrists.

But maybe when he heads back…

"So what do you think he wants?" Natsu's head snaps to the left, towards the younger of the two guards at his sides. Bright blue eyes, half hidden behind unruly russet hair, lock with his, wide and curious, a hint of a smile on the man's lips. The younger one, Natsu notes with mild curiosity, who had joined the first in the hallway after Natsu had reluctantly risen to his feet. Quirking a brow, Natsu gives the soldier a once over, brow furring when he takes in the boyish grin tugging at his lips. He's no older than Natsu is, perhaps even younger, judging by the impish twinkle in his eyes and the honest kindness on his face.

Natsu stares back, lips parted ever so slightly, wonder coursing through his veins.

The older guard isn't nearly as amused. "Shut up, Liam," he grunts, something like exasperation in his eyes. He shoots the younger soldier a tired, disapproving look, as if they've played this game many times before.

Judging by the way Liam's smile widens into something toothy, Natsu suspects that they have.

Liam clucks his tongue, leaning towards Natsu and peering around him to send the other man a wicked grin. Natsu flinches as the boy's armor brushes against his bare arm, but otherwise doesn't react to the close proximity. "Oh, come on, Seliz!" Liam snorts, eyes rolling dramatically as he mock frowns at the other guard. "You can't tell me you aren't curious?" Liam grins again, eyes going bright.

Seliz only sighs, clearly familiar with Liam's curiosity, though not amused by it. "Of course I am," he admits, voice dipping into a whisper, as if someone else may be listening. Natsu thinks that there very well may be. His Majesty has eyes and ears everywhere inside this city. Always watching and waiting. "But I don't stick my nose where it doesn't belong!"

There's a beat of silence as Liam pulls a face at the stoic guard, a silly expression tugging at his lips as he crosses his eyes. Natsu drops his gaze back to the floor, hiding a small grin as Seliz snarls at the boy, growling something in a foreign tongue that Natsu doesn't understand, though he thinks it might be Joyan. Given the context, he doubts it was friendly, however, Liam merely laughs, clearly amused with his friend's reaction.

"So what do you think he wants?" Liam asks again, bumping Natsu's shoulder with his own this time. Natsu flinches, reeling backwards as the freezing metal of Liam's armor burns against his skin. Liam appears not to notice, going so far as to lean in closer, his face hovering mere inches from Natsu's, lips twisted into a frown and his brow pinched in frustration. To Natsu's other side, Seliz sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, a stream of panicked and garbled words spilling from his lips as he notices Liam's close proximity to Natsu's face. "Well? What do you think the King wants with you?"

Natsu blinks down at the boy in surprise, but says nothing as Seliz barks at Liam to get back, even going to far as to reach around the Berserk to shove the other guard a step back. The pair bicker for a moment, but Natsu doesn't pay them any mind.

What do you think he wants?

Nothing good. The King only summons a Berserk when he wants someone dead—or worse. Nothing good ever comes of the Berserks being summoned. Perhaps that's why the soldiers fear them so much. The King's wrath is enacted through them, after all.

"Blood."

Seliz and Liam both pause in their argument, the former going rigid as Natsu speaks up once more. Liam, however, only peers up at him curiously, blue eyes going wide as he hears Natsu's voice for the first time. He blinks, owlish and appearing much younger than Natsu had originally taken him for. Looking at him now, he thinks the boy may only be sixteen, perhaps a year or two older.

A child soldier of Pergrande.

"What?" Liam murmurs, voice crackling as he speaks. His steps falter just the slightest, though he catches himself before he can fall. Eyes narrowing just the slightest, Liam looks him right in the eyes, no fear gleaming in his eyes as he meets Natsu's gaze almost challengingly, demanding that he repeat himself.

Natsu just snorts, lips curving back as he glares down at the younger male. "Blood," he repeats, slower this time, gaze calculating as he surveys the young guard. Too cocky. Too green in battle. Too friendly with _beasts_.

"Blood?"

Natsu nods stiffly, little more than a sharp jerk of his head. He tears his gaze from Liam's, staring forward at the large doors just ahead, the king waiting just inside. Natsu's teeth grind together harshly, his jaw locking as he sees the intricate golden pattern scrawled across the doors, tracing it with his eyes. "Isn't that what he always wants?"

Liam shifts in place, shoulders drooping as his gaze drops to the floor. For a moment, he says nothing, merely stares down at his feet in silence, choosing his words carefully. "I wouldn't know," he admits softly, russet hair falling into his face and shielding his eyes.

Natsu peers down at Liam for half a beat, then glances to his other side to blink at Seliz, who seems preoccupied with the doors ahead of them. Natsu sighs, shaking his head slowly before coming to a stop in front of the doors.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."

He doesn't look back at either soldier as the doors are wrenched open, metal gears grinding together harshly as they're forced to move. At his sides, Seliz and Liam shift uncomfortably, the stench of their fear coming back two-fold. Natsu snorts, contempt creeping through his veins.

The King's own men fear him more than they feared the monsters locked away in their cages.

That certainly says much about His Majesty. The Centari Kings rule by fear, and one day that will come back to bite them.

Natsu allows himself to be lead forward, his gaze never once leaving the King. The previous king had grown frail in his old age and sitting hunched upon his golden throne. Looking weak and weary the last time Natsu saw him, before his death. The new king, his son, looks no better now, though less gray at the root and with no wrinkles around his eyes. Younger, but not nearly as put together.

Kazamir Centari's crown is crooked, Natsu notes with interest, offset by just an inch, looking ready to topple from his head and clatter to the floor. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his expression pinched and enraged. He looks murderous, but something like shame rolls from him in waves, his heartbeat loud in the silent hall.

The jewel that typically rests against his throat is missing; the Centari crest curiously absent. Natsu has never known either of the Kings to take it off, wearing the crest proudly, greedily. The red gem is rumored to be magicked, instilled with a blessing from the faeborne, though the King has never been able to summon the magic himself, at least, not to Natsu's knowledge. Only those descendent of the Fae can wield their power in such ways. Though, that hasn't stopped the Centari line from garnering their power in other ways.

They hunted the Fae nearly to extinction, but not before forcing them to bless certain objects. One last insult to them.

Natsu's gaze snaps from the absent gem to the golden eyes of Kazamir Centari, which grow stormy once they connect with Natsu's. The King's lips twist into a savage smile when he sees Natsu, and his own mouth curves into a snarl, teeth bared at the false king. All Natsu can see in that smile is the glint of iron as a blade slashed against his throat— marring his flesh and branding him as a dog of war for Pergrande—and the horrible, dead look in Igneel's eyes as he hit the ground. No last words. No goodbyes. Igneel died trying to protect him, though Natsu was in no real danger in that moment.

Igneel died for nothing that night.

A lot of Berserks died for nothing that night. Even still, they die for nothing. Kale was murdered for nothing. Annari, died to protect a crown that would never protect him. Countless Berserks have been slaughtered in the name of a tyrant king that sees them as nothing more than weapons to use in his war.

Kazamir Centari is a murderer and a monster, much like the rest of his family. Nothing will ever change that.

Natsu is forced to stand before the throne, the chains around his wrists and ankles clanking loudly as he shuffles forward. The armor around his hips grows hot, burning at his skin once more, though for entirely different reasons. Seliz and Liam both kneel in respect for their King, their heads dipped so low Natsu wonders if they might scrape the floor. There's a beat of silence as they wait for him to do the same, but Natsu stands defiantly, chin raised to meet the King's gaze directly, expression lazy.

Kazamir's lips twist into a snarl at the insubordination, but he otherwise doesn't react. The two soldiers standing at either side of the King both shift in place, exchanging a nervous look above his head. A tense silence grows in the room, though no one dares to utter a word, recognizing the play for power between the Berserk and the King.

Kazamir Centari cocks his head to the right, a brow raising curiously as he glowers down at Natsu, waiting for him to make the first move, daring him to speak.

Natsu thinks he ought to keep his mouth shut, but he never has been one to follow the rules. "What do you want?" he asks the King, lips pressing into a thin line. He snarls up at Kazamir, the guards still kneeling on the floor scrambling back to their feet as his growl crackles through the air. The soldiers at the King's side both reach for their weapons, ready to defend their king should Natsu step out of line.

Kazamir merely smiles, a wide toothy grin that reminds Natsu of blood and iron and the smell of rotting flesh. "I have a job for you," he replies simply, gold eyes glinting dangerously. The rings upon his fingers catch the light, casting rays of color against the monarch's cheek and chin. Reds and yellows, like fire dancing against his skin.

Natsu scoffs. "No shit," he snarls, huffing a laugh. Seliz told him as much when he was retrieved from his cell. The King doesn't call upon his beasts for just any reason—only for missions or the occasional meeting with other royals. They're either errand boys or a scare tactic, meant to force the rulers of other countries to comply with Pergrande's demands or face the consequences.

Natsu has never been privy to one of these meetings, though he's heard many stories. The King prefers older Berserks for diplomacy meetings—ones with more scars from the rings. Those who are already weary from war and more likely to comply.

The King ignores him, acting as if he hadn't spoken at all. He waves a hand dismissively, and the doors behind Natsu slam shut, two soldiers coming to stand before the door. At Natsu's side, Liam flinches at the sound, rising to his feet slowly. The King follows the boy with his eyes, lips curling into a satisfied smirk as the boy avoids his gaze.

Natsu hears the guards at the door come closer, gliding across the floor until they're no more than a breath behind him. His head twists to the right just the slightest, just enough so that he can see the glint of their armor out of the corner of his eyes. His gaze snaps back to the throne a moment later, his jaw clenching as he waits for the monarch to speak.

"A retrieval mission," Kazamir continues, acting as if Natsu hadn't made a sound. A sneer pulls at the King's lips, his hand rising to his chest to finger the empty space when his necklace should be resting. Natsu raises a brow curiously, but says nothing. Kazamir's hand drops back to his side, fingers curling around the arms of his throne so tightly that his knuckles turn a stark white in color. "A thief broke into my room early in the morning," he snarls, "and stole my crest. I want it back from her." His gaze bores into Natsu's, golden eyes burning with hatred.

 _Her_. Natsu's eyes widen just the slightest at the revelation. It is a very rare occurrence that any man would dare to steal from a Centari, much less a woman. Certainly not for lack of want, but Natsu wouldn't know any women in Pergrande with the means to steal from the King, least of all without being caught. Natsu has never known any of the Centari family to be caught unaware. Each member of the royal family typically has at least ten guards stationed around his room at all times, from what Natsu has heard. There should have been no way one girl could have managed to slip past them all.

Natsu cocks a brow, head tilting to one side curiously as he glances between King Kazamir and the armed guards on either side of him. "And how did one girl manage to sneak into your room in the early morning?" he wonders aloud, green eyes glinting menacingly. "Did you, perhaps, allow her in?" The reigning Centari colors at the implication, though he neither confirms nor denies the insinuation. The guards in the room shuffle nervously, and from the corner of his eye, Natsu sees Liam flush in embarrassment.

Natsu chuckles, shoulders shaking in amusement as he appears to guess correctly. He's not sure which faired poorer. The King and his wounded pride and loss of a family heirloom, or the woman and whatever she had to do to get it.

Kazamir is less amused, his gaze filling with hatred as he glares down at Natsu. "Ask her yourself once you find her," he replies coolly, something icy in his tone. His eyes burn against Natsu's, but the Berserk meets him head on, gaze still sparkling with delight at the King's misfortune.

This time when he laughs it comes from somewhere deep in his chest. "Get one of your other soldiers to do it," he snarls at the King, attempting to swallow down his laughter. He barely manages to do so, but can't be bothered to wipe the savage smile from his lips. "I'm not your dog," he reminds the King with a growl, the rumble tearing his chest—low and warning—daring the King to demand anything of him.

Natsu decided long ago that he was done following the Pergrande King's orders. The only reason he let the guards drag him to the throne room was so that he could the pleasure of watching Kazamir Centari's face twist in rage as he said the words.

And twist in rage it does. The King rises his chin high, eyes flashing dangerously as he peers down his nose at the Berserk. "You serve me," he reminds Natsu coldly, spitting the words at him with a nearly unhampered fury. His guards go rigid, hands going to their weapons in warning.

Natsu merely laughs. "I don't serve a _false king_!"

The room goes silent as the words drip from his tongue. Barbed and poison laced; low and challenging. Natsu gains some satisfaction in the surprise in Kazamir's eyes—the rage boiling just beneath the surface—as well as the taken-aback expression on the face of every guard in the room.

Natsu's words hang heavy in the air.

Suddenly, the King rises to his feet in a rush. "Enough!" he snarls, his voice echoing throughout the room. Liam flinches once more, as does Seliz, both men taking a step back as the king storms down the steps leading up to his throne of gold. He stops mere feet from Natsu, who dares him to come closer with a threatening smile. "You will do as I say," he orders. The guards in the room draw their weapons, sharp iron aimed for Natsu's chest. "You know what will happen if you don't."

"Why should I care if you beat me?" Natsu asks him sarcastically, forcing himself a step closer even as the tip of a spear is forced against his chest, leaving a shallow, bloody cut across his ribs. "Or cut off my hand? You've taken everything else from me already," Natsu reminds the King darkly, a snarl rumbling deep in his chest.

The King gives him a once over, head cocking to one side in thought. "Not everything," he notes casually.

This time, Natsu throws his head back and laughs. "You want my life?" he growls, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Take it! I don't need it anymore," he snaps, spitting at the king's feet, "least of all if it's going to be spent serving you. Your Majesty," he tacks on mockingly, green eyes glinting with a mix of humor and uncontrollable rage.

"Perhaps, I should take your tongue," Kaamir muses, eyeing Natsu's mouth with interest.

Natsu snarls back, lips curving over his teeth as he bares them at the crown. His lips twist up in a smile, revealing sharp teeth that glint in the light. "Put your hand by my mouth," Natsu challenges, chuckling lowly, "see what happens." Kazamir takes a step back as the threat, and Natsu snickers, uncaring of the knife now pressed against his throat.

The King clenches his jaw, fists trembling with fury. "Your mission—"

"I'm not taking it," Natsu snarls back, voice booming through the empty room. The guards nearest to him recoil in shock, even Liam with his curious eyes and wild hair and Seliz, who appeared so unafraid earlier. For a moment, shame tugs at Natsu's gut—he doesn't want these men to fear him—but is dissipates just as suddenly as it appeared. These are also the men who imprisoned him for nearly fifteen _years_. A decade of his life was spent locked away in a frozen cell, listening to the screams of those who shared his heritage as they were slaughtered and maimed. All in the name of Kazamir Centari.

Natsu owes these men _nothing_.

"You will," Kazamir tells him calmly, sending Natsu a small smile that practically drips with venom, "because if you don't, you know what will happen. Though, I'm sure you'd much prefer being sold back to the rings." It's a threat, and a very clear one at that, but Natsu knows that it's also a bluff.

He snickers. "You wouldn't give up one of your guard dogs," he scoffs. If Kazamir was so willing to just trade them away, he wouldn't have made such a fuss over Kale's murder, let alone promise a fate worse than death to any man that lays a hand upon his Berserks. No one would commit murder for something they would so readily give away.

Kazamir just smiles and leans in closer. "Try me," he whispers, gold eyes flashing in mirth as the challenge snakes from his lips. "You leave now," he demands, back straightening as he rises to his full height, shorter than Natsu by only a hair. "Don't come back until you've found her and retrieved what I asked of you." Natsu sneers at him, digging his heels into the floor as a pair of guards grasp him by either arm, jerking him roughly backwards and towards the doors. "Oh, and berserker?" Kazamir calls over his shoulder, heading back to his throne. "Kill the girl."

"No," Natsu growls, a rumble growing in his chest.

Kazamir merely laughs. "Disobedient thing, aren't you?" he muses, something like amusement flickering in his eyes. "I wasn't asking."

Natsu strains forward, jerking half-way out of the guards' grasp. When he smiles it's all teeth and venom. "Why don't you get closer and find out?" he threatens.

Kazamir smiles. "Collar him."

Natsu's eyes go wide, but before he can do more than take a half-step backwards, he's already being forced to his knees, his joints still too stiff for him to move as quickly as he usually could. The guards hold him in place by the arms, another pressing a knife against his throat to keep him from thrashing. A forth steps in front of him, brandishing a golden collar with a ruby the size of a small fist glinting in the center. Natsu jerks away from the gem, flinching in terror even as the knife nicks his skin.

He doesn't plead or beg, not even as the gold is forced around his throat, the metal burning against his skin. A sudden force probes at his consciousness, at first little more than a sting at his temple. The pain beneath his skull turns to a burning throb that threatens to tear his mind apart completely. Tears burn at the corner of his eyes, but he doesn't let them spill over. He bites his tongue harshly, attempting to ignore the intense feeling.

When Natsu screams, it echoes through the room.

Kazamir watches the display in amusement, smiling when his Berserker is dragged back to his feet, eyes dark and expression blank, a trail of blood dripping from his nose.

* * *

 **AN: I'm rewriting this because 1) I want to and 2) because I've changed plot points and thus needed to fix things that came early in the story. I don't care that I was over forty chapters into this, I wanted to rewrite it. That is all.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Edited 3/10/18. Most changes are in the beginning section of this chapter. Apologies for any spelling/grammatical errors. I went out drinking Friday night and haven't been feeling great today. I blame the tequila. Brief almost-assault mention here. Just a heads up.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Five**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Lucy's feet slap wetly across the ground as she winds through the people crowding the streets, keeping herself pressed close to the outer edges of the streets. She doesn't dare to glance over her shoulder, to check for anyone following her. It would only seem suspicious, and if there's anything she's learned, it's not to look like she's being watched.

The crowded streets help, swallowing her in a sea of red and gold, Lucy easily disappearing in the multitude of bodies surrounding her. The market is finally open for business now that the sun has risen to a decent position in the sky, barely peaking out from between the storm clouds gathering above Ðüskell. It's a bad omen. Makarov always warned her about storm clouds when she's on the job. Nothing good comes from storms like that.

They're warnings from the Gods. The world's balance upset in some way. Nearly ten years ago it rained for two weeks after the slaughters the occurred in Fiore, as if the Old Gods were crying out for the loss of life, the injustice of it all.

She wonders what injustice is going to occur now.

A part of her wants to stop winding through the bodies surrounding her, to stop and turn back to Cobra's shop, wait for him there or see if he's already returned, but she knows she can't. It would draw too much attention to Cobra and Angel at the White Rose. They'll be looking for her, the guards saw her face, as did the King, and the first place he'll go to look for her is the White Rose. They'll tear the place apart looking for her, but Angel has dealt with far worse. And besides that, the woman has plenty of Pergrande's guards on her side, paid with crowns or women.

Lucy can only hope the woman can forge papers from Sin in such a short amount of time. Cobra would have headed to Angel first, to warn her that men would be coming, but they won't find Lucy's there. She'll be long gone by then. The King should only just now be coming too, though he'll be disoriented for some time. She'll be out of Ðüskell by then, and any guards that follow her will think she's headed south towards Sin, not West to Fiore.

They'll be going in the wrong direction.

She tries not to think about the alternative. That the King will remember the spell she whispered to give the crushed jasmine in her palm the breath of magic it needed, a sleep spell weaved into the petals before his eyes. If he remembers the magic then he'll know what she is. And if he knows it means he'll send his dogs after her. Guards she can handle. She knows how to disarm a man, knows where to strike to bring them to their knees. She can persuade men, charm them with a smile.

Lucy doesn't know how to fight a Berserker. She doesn't know how to defeat something that can't feel pain.

Her borrowed dress swishes around her legs as she walks, sheer fabric gaining her a few looks, but she hadn't dared to stop to change. Once she leaves the capital she can exchange the dress for her normal clothes, but for now she just needs to keep walking, her bag tossed over her shoulder, her things shoved inside. The cold is a bitter one so early in the morning, her breath cloudy in the air, but her hands are shaking too badly for her to find her spare clothes, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Fear nips at her heels as she continues through the crowd, her fingers twitching for her knives, but she'd left all but one hidden in the woods outside of Ðüskell, not wanting to have them all on her, should she be caught. Her magicked bag may be hard to spill secrets from, but she hadn't wanted to risk it.

The King has Berserkers. She doesn't know what other tricks he might have.

She should have killed him then, saved herself trouble later, but it wouldn't have been right. Thievery is one thing, assassination is another thing entirely. She couldn't kill him in good conscience, not when they go after Cobra and Angel as well. They would be complacent in murder, and they would be hanged for it. A public execution.

Besides, an assassination would be something she'd have to discuss with the Triumvirate, with Makarov. They've discussed it in passing before, whispers of it reaching her ears. It's something they would have to plan carefully, the Fae Council needing to instill a new ruler before the other royal families of Pergrande began to fight for control of the throne.

It would all be a bloody mess. One that they aren't ready for.

Lucy slinks her hands back into her pockets, drawing her coat tighter around herself as she continues to slink around the city, keeping tight to the shadows. It took her far longer than expected to make her way out of the castle. Too long, in fact.

Her lips twist into a frown and she pushes herself to move faster, the magic beneath her skin thrumming nervously along with the beating of her heart. She needs to get to the woods and the weapons she left hidden. She won't make it far without them. All she has now is one knife and her magic, and she'd prefer to keep the latter a secret if she can help it. It wouldn't due to brand herself a witch as well as a thief.

Hissing through her teeth, Lucy turns a corner, relieved to find herself nearing the Western gate. She squints ahead, relaxing only slightly when she notices only one guard is on duty. It makes things easier, but not tremendously so. She still has no weapons and she doubts he'll be one to let her pass without trouble. The younger ones never do. They all think their uniforms give them the power to do as they please. More than that, she's still dressed as a girl from the White Rose, her dress branding her a prostitute.

She'd be more surprised if she didn't receive any trouble leaving.

Lucy slouches as she nears the gate, attempting to appear smaller than she is and hoping he'll let her pass unscathed if he thinks she's nothing more than a drifter or a beggar. Being invisible is hard enough on a normal day, even more so when she knows little of the country's people and their customs. And especially with the way she's dressed.

Deft fingers slip into her pocket, feeling for the amulet tucked away against the fur lining. As the gem brushes her fingers, a wave of power floods through her, warming her bones. Lucy sighs softly, wetting her lips as she pulls her hand back, dropping it back to her side.

She will make it out of this city, even if she has to resort to desperate measures.

The guard doesn't look up as she nears, too engrossed with scrubbing a speck of dust from the toe of his boot. He isn't nearly as decorated as the other soldiers Lucy has seen in the city: no gold armor or jeweled swords. His armor is mostly thick leather, dark in color and lined with wool. Only his shoulders are covered in golden armor, polished and gleaming in the morning light.

A sentry, Lucy thinks, probably new, sent to guard the gates just to get him out of the way. Her amber eyes turn critical as her lips pull into a snarl. Clearly, this man has become a soldier for the power behind it, rather than good intentions. Lucy has never seen a soldier concerned with a little dust on his boot—not even Laxus when he was part of Fiore's corps. And Laxus is one of the most prim soldiers she's ever met.

He almost doesn't notice her as she passes. Almost.

Before Lucy can slip through the open gate, a hand shoots out and grabs her by the upper arm, fingers digging into her bare skin just above the lacy edge of her dark gloves. She stops short of leaving, allowing his grip to tighten without a word or glance. Lucy keeps her head ducked low, refusing to meet his gaze even as she feels his ayes burning into her back.

The soldier gives a low, appreciative whistle as he looks at her, and Lucy's hands clench into fists, her nails digging into the fabric covering her palms. She can practically feel the way his gaze slides down her body and it takes every ounce of her will not to turn around and rip her nails across his eyes.

She doesn't do this, of course. Mostly because it would only draw more attention to the two of them, but also because she promised Romeo she would stay out of trouble. And attacking a royal guard would only attract trouble she doesn't need. This soldier isn't worth breaking a promise to her younger brother, and it isn't worth her life either. Just because he has no honor doesn't mean Lucy has to abandon hers. She's already stooped lower than she would have liked in the last several hours, she doesn't need to blind a man as well.

The man tightens his grip, sliding in closer to her until she can feel his breath against her cheek. The hood is pulled back from her head, allowing her hair to tumble around her face in great waves. With his free hand, the man tugs at one of the small braids in her hair, twirling it around a finger. Lucy has to bite her tongue to keep from snarling, her entire body going rigid beneath his hands. The soldier either doesn't notice Lucy's distress or doesn't care. She would be money on the latter.

"Where you goin', Darlin'?" the man asks in Përn, the native tongue of Pergrande. His accent is thick, from farther east, and her ears aren't trained to hear through the garbled slang. She can only make out a few words, but she understands the gist. There's a drawl to his words, unlike what she's heard previously. Përn is a strict tongue, sharp and formal in nature. She's never heard anyone speak like this man, his tongue loose in a way that sounds lazy, uncaring. It's odd, if nothing else, and only serves to assure her that this man has no manners.

Përn is a proper tongue, rough sounding but also elegant in a way she doesn't quite understand. It used to be a proud tongue.

No high ranking soldier would ever speak so informally least of all to a stranger and a foreigner.

Lucy attempts to pull out of his grasp, but he only holds her tighter, fingers tugging harshly at her hair.

Gritting her teeth, Lucy pauses to consider the correct word, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Leaving," she finally spits, giving him a sharp look from the corner of her eye. He barely regards her, far more concerned with letting his eyes roam her figure, the sheer dress doing little to hide her curves from him. She takes a half step away from him, and the hand in her hair drops back to his side, his other hand slowly sliding from her shoulder down to her wrist, grip not at all loosening.

"Is that so?" Amusement creeps into his voice and Lucy bristles, her lips curving back over her teeth. She doesn't react besides this, hoping that he'll let go on his own so that she can avoid any more unnecessary attention. "Well, you know there's a fee for leaving," he tells her. There isn't one. She knows there isn't. She made sure to ask when she entered the city. Not wanting to get caught and risk losing her life.

Lucy finally meets his gaze, resisting a shudder as she sees the predatory glint in his light blue eyes.

She holds his gaze, straightening her back. "I have no money," she lies smoothly, shrugging as his eyes darken. His lips curve into a wicked smile, sharp as a knife.

He jerks her into his arms before she can pull away, one arm slipping around her back and the other going directly to her thigh, fingers down the outside of her leg until he meets leather and then soft cotton. "I never said it would cost you gold," he murmurs lowly, ducking down so that his breath puffs against her jaw.

A word she doesn't recognize slips from his mouth, perhaps an endearing term, a pet name, but it sours with the way he leers at her.

Lips press against the side of her throat, teeth grazing her skin, and Lucy glances sideways to see if anyone is near enough to see them. The streets are bare, however, everyone at the markets, and the sentry has pulled her into the shadow of the gate, hiding the two of them from sight. Frustration bubbles beneath her skin, but she waits, allowing him to trail his lips along her jaw for a moment.

"And what," she hisses sharply, the foreign words sounding strange to her own ears, "would it cost me?" she asks him, tilting her head to the slide just the slightest. Lucy waits for a response, but he doesn't speak, just grins against her skin and pulls her further into the shadows.

When the hand on her back slips beneath her jacket to caress the bare skin of her back Lucy decides she's had enough.

Before she can say anything else, the sentry breathes two words against her ear. "Your flesh." His thumb brushes against the bare skin of her spin, a low sound leaving his throat as he turns the two of them quickly. Lucy gasps as her back is slammed against the metal gate and a firm hand snakes over her ribs. His other hand trails down her thigh over her dress.

Lucy slips a hand down between them, covering his palm with her own and squeezing. He leans in closer and groans against her throat when Lucy drags his hand higher along her leg, allowing his thumb to brush along the curve of her hip.

When she snaps his fingers satisfaction crawls into her throat.

The sentry lets out a strangled scream and Lucy jerks her head forward, her teeth digging into the side of his throat so deeply that she breaks the skin. Something wet and metallic slides over her tongue and Lucy reels back. The guard is still screaming when she throws her knee up, between his legs. He falls heavily to his knees and Lucy considers pulling out her knife, but ultimately decides to drive her other knee against his face instead. There's a satisfying crunch and then blood spurts from his nose. He tumbles backwards, unconscious, and Lucy doesn't stay to watch him hit the ground.

She slips between the crack in the gate, leaving the guard behind her without a second thought. Lucy shuts the gate behind her, her shoulders only relaxing when the doors click shut loudly, the sound echoing through the silence—rattling her bones. The amulet in her pocket suddenly feels all too heavy as it slaps against her thigh with every step she takes.

The rhythmic pattern is almost soothing—almost, but it's drowned by the rapid beating of her heart, her pulse throbbing in her ears until she can barely hear herself thinking.

Lucy is running before she can stop herself. Bile rises high in her throat, but she swallows it down, knowing better than to get sick somewhere just outside the city. She can't be caught now. She needs to get to the woods before anyone notices the sentry she knocked unconscious. Without a doubt, they'll guess he was trying to stop someone from leaving. Most guards wouldn't bother with anyone coming in, not until they've already caused trouble.

She should have just gone out the North gate where she came in. She knew for a fact that Ganta, the kind guard she had meet three days earlier, would be on duty. It would have taken her a little longer to leave and find her weapons, but she wouldn't have been held up at the gate like that.

Shaking her head rapidly, Lucy focuses on running. It's not important anymore. What happened happened and there's nothing she can do about that. All that matters now is that she doesn't get caught, everything else can be forgotten. She squeezes her eyes shut briefly, but snaps them open when she nearly trips in a foxhole, her ankle pulling harshly as she catches herself on her hands. Lucy hisses through clenched teeth, angry at herself for not paying attention, and just keeps running, uncaring of the way her ankle throbs slightly with every step she takes.

If she doesn't start focusing she's going to get herself killed or worse.

Time passes quickly, and Lucy is surprised to find herself amongst the trees mere minutes later. The thicket is shaded when she slips into the brush, and a rabbit startles, leaping out of the tall grass and disappearing somewhere to Lucy's left. It's not until she's dragging her things out of the bushes that Lucy realizes her hands are shaking, digging into the straps of her bag so tightly she's afraid she might holes in the leather.

She loosens her grip, sucking in a deep, shaky breath as she attempts to calm her nerves. It takes a moment, but her hands fall still, her grip growing slack. She shrugs her bag from her back, the familiar weight disappearing as she drops it to the ground. Lucy waits for her heart to stop racing before reaching for her things hidden beneath the bushes.

She changes quickly, dropping her jacket to the forest floor and fumbling with the dress she's wearing, carefully removing the decorative collar from her neck and letting the sheer fabric pool at her feet. Her clothes from the day before are pulled onto her frame easily, a sense of familiar ease washing over her as she pulls her shorts up her legs.

Lucy shrugs on her coat once more, shoving the dress into her bag without much thought. It could come in handy again. She scoops up her back, throwing it on over her jacket, and begins to grab for her weapons.

Her quiver comes first,attaching to one of the loops in her belt. Then the bow, slung around her back with the string cutting across her chest. Her knives come last, and she names them as she slips them into the holders on her thighs—silly names: Rose and Kell, Echo and Kali. Romeo wanted to name them when he was younger. Laxus thought it was a silly thing to do, but Lucy humored him, allowing her younger brother to name each of them with great care.

Rose for the one with the rose quarts blade—the one it took Lucy months to save up for. Kell for the one she bought off a merchant in Crocus, _KL_ carved into the hilt, though the letters hold no meaning to Lucy. Echo, for the one whose twin was lost during a border skirmish with men from Bosco—slave traders. And the black blade with the wicked curve and delicate hilt was named Kali.

She rarely calls them by these names, and she doubts that Romeo and Laxus even remember them, but Lucy never could forget. The names always come back to her when she finds herself unable to breathe. They make her think of her brothers—remind her that she needs to get back to them.

Lucy slips back out of the brush, and turns West, thinking about the trip home. It took her nearly three weeks to get to Pergrande from Fiore, and only because she managed to catch a ride with a family traveling from Bosco to Bellum. Assuming all goes well, it should take Lucy nearly twice that to get home, though she doubts she has that sort of time. She could look for another ride, but she doesn't trust the people of Pergrande, certainly not this close to the capital.

Steeling herself, Lucy takes a deep breath, listening to the sounds of the forest around her: the birds and small deer native to Pergrande, a small creek bubbling somewhere off to her right, the distant cry of a bird of prey.

And she runs.

* * *

Two days pass and Lucy doesn't stop even as her legs begin to ache and her lungs scream in pain with every breath she takes. She can't stop—she _can't_. If she didn't make it this far only to be caught now. She didn't come all the way to Pergrande and steal from the royal family only to be hunted down in the woods. She won't allow herself to quit so easily.

Someone is bound to come after her, so she can't stop running. She might not be rested for a fight, but if anyone tries to stop her, they won't take her easily, that's one promise she can make. And the promise of a Fae is blood bound, even if it is to herself.

Raw determination courses through her veins, magic humming beneath her skin, and Lucy forces herself to move faster, ignoring the pain that comes with every step she takes. Her ankle hurts the most, more damaged from her earlier fall than she had thought. Though, constantly running on it certainly hasn't helped. Her lungs burn as well, fire in her veins. Lucy ignores the pain, focusing only on the dull thud of the stone in her pocket as it slaps against her leg and the weight of her bag against her back.

Romeo's grin comes to mind and Lucy can't help but smile, yearning to be home with her family again. She was only home briefly after getting Cobra's viper eggs. There wasn't time to rest before she needed to leave for their meeting. The eggs typically hatch within a month of being laid, and she didn't have the time to waste, already running late.

She was lucky they didn't hatch before she found Cobra. Even as hatchlings the vipers are dangerous, their venom strong enough to kill a dozen men with one bite. Lucy isn't trained to handle them.

Lucy knows she doesn't have much time to get home. The viper fangs will lose potency within three months time, and though she hopes it won't take her _months_ to get home, she isn't expecting an easy return.

There's a snapping sound to Lucy's left and she stops short, legs nearly buckling as she comes to a stop. It takes Lucy a long moment to realize how quiet the forest is—no birds, no wolves, no squirrels chattering in the trees—everything is silent. Her skin prickles as she listens to the quiet, her breathing suddenly loud in the forest.

This is the place where the trees sing, some mystical place where they whisper back and forth—the spirits of slaughtered Fae residing amongst the bark. Lucy takes a deep breath, concentrating on every little sound the forest makes, listening for anything over the wild beating of her heart.

The forest's words seem to blur together, to soft for Lucy to make them out. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter, willing herself to hear them.

 _Watch out._

Lucy's eyes snap open, her breath catching in her throat. Shaking her head slowly, she squeezes her eyes shut once more, listening for the whispers once more. She can hear them, but they're too garbled to make out the words—but the tone—the tone is clear, low and warning; desperate.

She hears him before she sees him.

Eyes still squeezed shut, Lucy hears the soft crunch of a leaf beneath a boot not five paces to her right—the soft slide of worn leather against the grass as someone lunges.

Lucy doesn't hesitate. Her eyes flicker open, head snapping to the side just in time to see a man barreling towards her. Golden armor glints in the morning light and Lucy reacts. She spins on her heel, right arm reaching blindly behind her, fingers wrapping around the lower arm or her bow. When the man is directly in front of her, Lucy jerks her arm forward. The bowstring cuts across her chest and threatens to snap as it's pulled tight around her, but she hardly notices.

The sturdy end of the bow knocks against the underside of his jaw and he stumbles back a step, momentarily thrown off guard. Lucy doesn't let him regain his senses. She drops down low, sweeping his legs out from under him without missing a beat, and he crashes to the ground with a snarl.

Lucy turns and runs, but doesn't make it far before a hand wraps around her ankle and drags her to the dirt. She yelps as her back hits the forest floor, the breath knocked from her lungs. Her head hits the ground roughly, a sharp, stabbing pain racing through her temple. She hisses, eyes squeezing shut as a sob bubbles in her throat. She swallows it down, determined not to start crying in the middle of a fight.

A weight settles on top of her, warm and solid—practically crackling with heat—but before Lucy can open her eyes a pair of lips are pressed to her shoulder. She freezes suddenly, breath catching in her throat as she goes rigid. Despite willing herself to open her eyes and find out what's happening, Lucy finds herself unable to move, paralyzed by fear and something else she's can't quite comprehend. Exhaustion pulls at her, making her limbs feel weak and bones heavy.

For a long moment, nothing happens. The man's lips stay pressed against her skin, his warm breath tickling her neck every time he exhales. Hands settle on the ground on either side of her waist, caging her in, and heat prickles her skin where he hovers over her, energy crackling around him. Then, he opens his mouth, chapped lips scrape against her skin and Lucy's fingers begin to crawl towards the holster on her thigh. Her fingertips brush along the skin of his wrist, barely ghosting against him, and he pauses—almost hesitating.

Her fingers brush against Kell—sweet Kell—and then his lips curve back over his teeth as he bites down on her shoulder. This time, Lucy does scream, a sob tearing from her throat as his canines sink into her shoulder—tearing through skin and muscle until she's sure she can feel him in her bones.

Lucy swings blindly with her knife, aiming for his side, but only catching him along the inside of his arm. He reels back nonetheless, and Lucy kicks him in the chest before scrambling backwards against the wet grass, putting as much space between the two of them as she can.

Confused green eyes lock with hers—something like hurt flickering in his gaze before it's swallowed by something mindless and blank. Lucy's eyes narrow in confusion as his features smooth out, no trace of emotion anywhere to be found. She finds her eyes wandering then, which isn't a smart thing to do, but she can barely keep her eyes open at this point. Blood drips down the inside of his arm, a shallow line drawn across his bicep. Ruby and gold swallow her vision and she becomes increasingly aware of how little covers him.

Something gold glints around his throat and Lucy's eyes lock on a gleaming red gem, something dark pulsing through the air between them.

Lucy meets his blank eyes once more, cold realization filling her veins. "Berserker," she chokes out, grip tightening on Kell as she reaches for Kali as well. Her quiver is empty, arrows scattered across the ground.

He growls when he hears her speak, his lips curving back threateningly, though his expression stays blank.

That's when he lunges once more.

* * *

 **AN: Be sure to leave a review and let me know what you thought of the changes here.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Edited 3/13/18. Most changes occur towards the end of the chapter, but there are small fixes throughout.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Six**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Lucy throws herself to the left, her bag dropping to the ground. The Berserker's fingers skim her arm briefly before she ducks out of the way. Landing heavily on her shoulder, Lucy scrambles backwards as quickly as she can, gaze trained on the beast prowling around her, pacing in slow circles, eyes on her. He doesn't blink and neither does Lucy. Her pulse pounds in her ears, drowning out all other noise in the forest until her heartbeat is the only sound. It hammers away in her chest, threatening to tear straight through her bones and flesh. He keeps a hawk's eye on her movements, gaze flickering around her frame every time she moves.

She drags herself backwards once more, her injured leg dead beneath her. Lucy lets out a low whine as her shoulder begins to burn where he bit her, almost pulsing in time with her heart. The Berserker stills as a low cry spills from Lucy's lips, his steps faltering for only a moment as his muscles tense. His hands clench into fists as he stares down at her. Lucy grits her teeth and drags herself across the wet ground, swearing when her bowstring snags on a branch beneath her. She slips the wood from around her back and tosses it off to her left, silently lamenting the loss of her bow—a gift from Makarov when she turned sixteen. It had been good to her all these years, but she'd rather be alive than keep it for memories sake.

Standing slowly, Lucy yanks a knife from the holster at her thigh, not pausing to see which. She clenches them tightly in her fists for a moment, then relaxes her grip, releasing a shaky breath through clenched teeth.

The Berserker watches her as she moves, his pacing falling to a complete stop. Deftly, Lucy spins the blades in her hands, more for her own confidence than anything else. A threat would be wasted on a Berserker. She doubts they know fear, especially not in their rage induced state.

When he roars the sound rattles Lucy's bones.

Before she can blink he's charging towards her, snarling with his lips curved back over his teeth, his mouth stained red with her blood. Lucy lets him come, only crouching and ducking to the right at the very last moment. His hands meet empty air where she once was, and Lucy shoves a black blade into his back just above his armor. He howls as the knife slices through his flesh, tearing a neat line across his side.

Lucy doesn't have time to be proud of herself, because in the next second he whirls around and slams an iron fist into her stomach, driving the breath straight from her lungs and tossing her backwards a step. He swings a second time, catching her across the face and sending her hurtling towards the ground. The Berserker catches her before she falls, lifting her by the throat until she's dangling clear above the ground, her feet kicking uselessly beneath her. Lucy chokes, a strangled sound leaving her as he squeezes his fingers around her throat. She wheezes, knives dropping to the ground as desperate fingers curl around his arm, clawing at his wrist as she frantically tries to take in air. Tears burn at the backs of her eyes and she can taste blood on her tongue as she gasps.

Green eyes lock with hers, pale and clouded over, unfocused as he stares straight through her—looking but not seeing. Rosy hair ruffles as a breeze sweeps around them, Lucy's magic trying to crawl out of her veins.

It's not enough. The magic is too weak to protect her now. If she had more Night Jasmine, maybe she could put him to sleep, but her spells have never been strong enough, not without something to anchor them to. Makarov is the caster of their family. Lucy's affinity has always lied with the elements, with the stars. It's always been stronger after dusk.

She can't reach the viper venom she got from Cobra either, the vial tucked deep into her bag, lying uselessly on the ground a dozen feet away, too far for her to get to. She couldn't be sure the venom would slow him anyhow. The venom of an Encan Fire Viper is one of the stronger toxins in Ishgar, a single bite able to kill several men.

Nothing can stop the Berserkers though.

She trembles as he leans in closer, his breath puffing across her jaw, and she slams her eyes shut, praying for a quick death in the language of the Fae. The words spill from her mouth, sounding like nonsense as she stumbles over the words, but she can't stop herself.

"Hast est miral." By the moon. May the Goddess Esta guide her through the long night.

Her mother had done the same, just before she died, but they hadn't answered her. Lucy remembers her mother dying slowly, blood filling her lungs until she drowned, choking to death on garnet. Lucy could do nothing but watch back then, pleading with the Gods to let her mother live. They hadn't listened then, and Lucy doubts they will now.

Something warm and wet slides along her jaw, lapping at the blood dripping from her split lip. Lucy trembles as she realizes it's his tongue, but refuses to open her eyes. The slick appendage trails across her flesh almost teasingly, dangerously close to her lips as he licks away the blood. His breath is hot against her chin, and when his breath ghosts the wet trails left on her skin goose bumps erupt across every inch of her. His fingers tighten around her neck suddenly and she gasps, drawing a shudder from him. His mouth leaves her flesh, a low growl tearing from his throat, and Lucy can practically feel his teeth digging into her flesh once more.

With a terrified sob, Lucy lets one of her hands fall uselessly to her side, the limb thumping against her thigh and trembling violently. The Berserker's grip on her throat changes suddenly, slackening and allowing her to suck in a greedy breath. Her eyes snap open, meeting his once more. Amber and emerald clash and he snarls low in his chest. She holds his gaze this time, her lips curving back as she bares her teeth at him.

Her hand bumps against her thigh once more and Lucy's head begins to swim. Black dots flicker across her vision and her head lolls to the side. The ringing in her ears turns to cold, white silence. The breeze around them disappears entirely and her jacked slaps against her leg, a slight weight thumping against her bare skin.

Time stops.

Lucy's eyes widen just a fraction as she feels the weight in her pocket. Her fingers drift down to her coat, slipping against the rabbit fur lining slowly—carefully. She looks the Berserker in the eyes, lips twisting up into a smile, sharp as a knife, but he just stares blankly. Lucy closes her eyes, fingers curling around the object in her jacket gently. His breath puffs against her cheek and his free hand rises to her face, thumb brushing across her cheek, almost a ghost of an apology. Lucy's heart leaps into her throat, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she struggles to catch her breath.

A low, mournful sound rumbles from his chest.

She swings then, releasing a handful of red dust into his eyes. He roars, hand tearing from her throat to paw at his burning skin. Lucy wheezes as she hits the ground on her back, skull cracking against the ground painfully. Glancing up at the man before her, Lucy watches as he snarls and attempts to wipe the red from his eyes.

Satisfaction curls through her chest, and Lucy is suddenly grateful that she'd taken the Relcure Powder from Makarov's desk before leaving. At the time, she hadn't known what compelled her to take it. She only needed the viper eggs for Cobra. It was an easy job, she wouldn't need Relcure Powder for that, even if she were to be caught. She hadn't been expecting to steal the amulet and be hunted by a Berserker, not at the time.

Now she's glad she took it.

The Berserker snarls, and Lucy rolls to her right. His fist connects with the ground, the earth exploding where Lucy's head just was. Clenching her jaw, Lucy yanks a third knife from her holster and rolls into a crouch. The blade slashes across his leg and when he roars, Lucy takes the chance and bolts.

He's only a step behind her, and when Lucy twists around to plunge a knife into his chest, he grabs her by the wrist and throws her clean over his shoulder. She screams as she lands roughly on her arm and curls in on herself, tucking her legs against her chest. Lucy rolls several feet, a metallic gush of liquid filling her mouth as she bites her tongue. Landing on her stomach, she spits out the blood in her mouth. Wasting no time, Lucy pushes herself to her knees, scrambling to stand. He's in front of her in an instant, boot slamming into her ribs and driving the breath clear from her lungs.

The knife is ripped from Lucy's hand and tossed across the small clearing. Her last hope disappears in a glint of steel.

For a long moment nothing happens, her vision growing hazy as the world around her becomes muted. Lucy rolls onto her back and stares up at the sky, the morning rays of light appearing a savage, bloody red as she looks between the branches of the trees.

The Berserker crouches beside her, watching her in silence. He doesn't reach out to touch her this time, merely stares at the blood on her face in apt fascination. Lucy chokes on a sob, coughing as blood fills her mouth, sliding down her throat. She stares up at the trees, wishing she could see stars in place of this red sky. Her hands fall limp a her sides, fingers tapping absentmindedly against her sides as her lips twist into a frown. Her hand drifts to the leather strap around her leg just as he leans further over her, blocking out the sky entirely. Her fingers brush against something solid and sharp.

Without thinking, Lucy rips the last knife from her side and plunges it deep into his chest. She tries to anyway. The blade makes contact with his flesh, the rosy blade glinting in the red light as the tip slips through his flesh easily. Before the blade can sink deeper, his hand flies to the blade. Deft fingers wrap around the stone, his palm bleeding red as he squeezes tightly, stopping the blade from slipping further into his chest. Lucy pushes harder, forcing herself to press the blade deeper—ending this once and for all. His grip merely tightens, and with a snarl and a sharp crack, the blade is split in two.

Lucy watches in horror as the stone splinters, a jagged edge marring the once smooth blade.

The Berserker tosses the broken tip behind him and Lucy loses sight of the stone she had worked so hard to get. It had taken her months to buy that blade from Makarov's weapons dealer. Now it's just gone. Snapped as if it was _nothing_.

A sick feeling curls through Lucy's stomach as she realizes how easily he could have snapped her neck earlier. By all means, she should already be dead. He _chose_ to play with her longer, as if it's a game.

Lucy's head aches and her vision swims. Her arms hang limp at her sides and when she breathes her chest rattles. Exhaustion tugs at her weary mind, her bones weak and heavy from the fight. Lucy considers striking him once more, ripping her nails across his face and watching him bleed. Rage boils in her chest, but Lucy can't find the strength to do more than twitch her fingers.

She had forgotten the myth of Berserkers feeling no pain or weariness. How they can fight for days and never yearn for sleep. Makarov used to tell them stories about Berserker fights: how they would battle to the death, collapsing due to blood loss or exhaustion. There's no way to stop them. Not unless they want to be stopped.

She wonders if he wants to be stopped.

Once more, a weight settles on top of Lucy, burning hot and rock hard. The Berserker crackles with heat, though he has no magic. Lucy has read the lore, heard all of the tales from Makarov. Blessed by the Gods, yes, but Berserkers had never been gifted like the Fae. It's understandable: the heat. Berserkers hail from the far north, thousands of miles from the lower peninsula of Ishgar, where it's so cold that it could freeze the hottest of fires with merely a gust of wind. For the Berserkers to have survived in that climate they would have to burn hotter than any fires.

The Gods Flame. That's what they had been granted so long ago, that's what Makarov said in his stories. They had been given a Gods Flame. Djehl had taken pity on his creatures of war, granting them an eternal fire in their souls, something to counteract the ice in their veins. Djehl had never seen a more violent race and he wanted them to burn as hot as their anger.

She had never taken much stock in the old legends. Now she wishes she had listened closer. She doubts anything could help her now.

The Berserker settles over Lucy slowly, not touching her save for a finger sliding down her bruised throat. It's a light touch, merely a ghost, but Lucy shivers all the same. She doesn't freeze up this time, not even as he leans into her, a snarl vibrating against her skin and making her bones rattle. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, threatening to break free of her rib cage. As if hearing her beating heart, his fingers slide from her throat down to her chest, his palm settling against her clammy skin heavily. His fingers spread, curling loosely and skimming against her throat and the edge of her jacket.

Lucy's hands curl into the bottom of the ruby fabric around his hips, fingers absentmindedly twisting through the bright cotton. She keeps her gaze on his throat, eying the golden band locked around his throat, stretched from chin to the base of his neck. A gleaming red gem rests in the center, pulsing darkly against the necklace.

Magic, she realizes belatedly, watching as a shadow dances inside the stone, curling and twisting violently. Dark magic, Lucy corrects herself, eyes narrowing as she squints up at it. _A possession charm_.

Forcing herself to move, Lucy reaches for the Berserker's neck. He snarls as she ghosts the collar at his throat, a weary finger drifting across the dark magic at his throat. His hand slides back to her throat, fingers moving to choke her once more. "Please don't," Lucy murmurs, but he doesn't listen—he _can't_. His fingers curl around her neck and squeeze, tighter than the first time. Lucy hisses in pain, but doesn't pull her fingers from his throat.

She lifts her other hand as well, fingers sliding around the burning metal, poking and prodding for anything that seems out of place. At the nape of his neck, Lucy finds a pair of small, thick loops, a ring holding the two halves of the collar together. Dropping a hand back to her side, Lucy grasps blindly for the broken half of her knife. Ignoring the screaming of her lungs and black dots flooding her vision, she brings the snapped blade to the back of his neck and forces it through the metal ring, twisting it as hard as she can.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Lucy sobs again, still twisting at the ring—attempting to force it open. Fear clings at her skin, her chest burning cold as she struggles to breathe. His fingers squeeze tighter and tighter and Lucy's lungs begin screaming. The ring parts only slightly, but Lucy continues to twist.

There's a snapping sound. The collar comes loose and tumbles to the ground to Lucy's left, just barely missing her head as it clanks loudly against the dirt.

Suddenly, Lucy can breathe again. The pressure on her throat disappears and she sucks in a greedy breath, a violent couch racking her body as she shivers and gasps. Horrified emerald eyes lock with Lucy's as she lies trembling beneath the Berserker, chest heaving. Her gaze slips from his, head lolling to the side, and then a hand is on her back and she's being rolled onto her side moments before vomiting.

Bile rises high in Lucy's throat, burning her raw esophagus before spewing onto the grass. The Berserker, still hovering atop her, gathers her hair into one hand, brushing the strands away from her face with a gentle finger. His other palm rests between her shoulder blades, fingers drawing gentle circles against her spine.

Lucy can't be sure how long the pair of them lie there, Lucy dry heaving between gulps of musty air and the Berserker rubbing soothing shapes against her back, lips murmuring nonsense as he speaks to her in a whisper: thank yous—apologies mostly, they keep tumbling from his lips, gruff and choked and so honest they make Lucy's eyes burn. Minutes pass, hours even, and eventually Lucy rolls onto her back, nervous eyes locking with the Berserker's own shocked green gaze. Neither speak as he slips away of her, kneeling at her side. His gaze never leaves her, not even for a moment, as his eyes flick from her face to her rapidly bruising neck and then back again.

He simply watches as Lucy stands on shaking legs, a hand reaching out to steady her before he can stop himself. She tenses in response, his hand warm against her bare thigh, but ultimately decides to ignore it, instead staring down at the broken bade in her hand. His fingers flex against her leg, tightening briefly before relaxing, and Lucy finds herself leaning into his grip, for some reason trusting him to keep her on her feet despite everything that just happened. She drops the blade to the ground at her feet after a long moment, scooping up the collar that he had been wearing instead.

He flinches as she holds it in her hands, muscles tensing as he eyes her wearily. His grip tightens on her leg, but he doesn't let her go. Lucy's fingers curl around the gold violently as she glances down at the Berserker—his muscles tensing and relaxing repeatedly, red-eyed and trembling just the slightest, seemingly docile now that the collar has been removed. The blank expression is gone from his face, revealing pain and anger, something like disgust. She purses her lips and turns her back on the man, shivering as his fingers slide down her leg for just a moment before dropping back to his side. She limps across the clearing slowly, heading for her discarded bag.

Lucy rips the leather sack off the ground and shoves the collar inside, knowing that Makarov will want to take a look at it. If the King of Pergrande is controlling his Berserkers with magic—she shakes her head, dispelling the thought as her head begins to ache. It won't mean anything good if he has magic. Makarov will want to see it. Maybe it might give them answers.

She hears the Berserker stand, but doesn't look back at him as she picks up her scattered arrows and replaces them in her quiver, trying to hide the trembling of her hands by keeping them busy. The knives come next, three instead of four, but at least they're all in one piece.

His eyes follow her as she moves, but she ignores him, not trusting herself to speak, unsure if she even can, and not wanting to look at him.

"You're hurt," a voice speaks up from behind her, a low rumble through the otherwise silent clearing. Lucy whirls around, her bag slipping from her fingers. The Berserker stands only a few feet behind her, her bow clasped in his left hand, his gaze locked on her ankle, eyes narrowed in thought. His eyes snap up to meet hers, guilt shinning beneath the surface.

A bitter smile pulls at her lips, something sarcastic on her tongue, but she bites it back, too tired to snap at him. Of course she's hurt. "I'm fine," she croaks instead, her throat raw and sore. It hurts to breathe—hurts to _think_.

The Berserker frowns, but says nothing as he holds out the bow for her to take. She snatches it away, holding it close to her chest, and murmurs a small, breathless "thank you" before she can stop herself. His expression turns to something akin to surprise, something soft creeping into his eyes behind the layers of sheer ice and steel.

For a moment, Lucy takes the time to look at him. Blue paint is streaked across his chest, sweat and blood making the symbol unreadable against the broad expanse of skin. She's heard stories of the runes on their chests. He seems unconcerned with the blood leaking from the cuts she's made, far more worried for her than he is for himself. Lucy's gaze shifts to his throat, her breath catching as she notices the jagged, silver scar stretching across the length of his neck. It's large and thick and Lucy can't begin to imagine how deeply he was cut. Not that she should care.

Her gaze drops once more and Lucy slings the bow around her back, tossing her bag over one shoulder halfheartedly. Once she finishes shuffling her few belongings, Lucy glances up at the Berserker, his gaze flittering across her form in search of the damage he caused. Regret burns in his eyes and the wound on Lucy's shoulder throbs, but she ignores it.

Lucy turns on her heel, determined to make it out of Pergrande sooner than later. She doesn't think she can run anymore, not for a few days.

A warm palm curls around her wrist, gentle but firm enough to stop her in her tracks. Lucy glances at him over her shoulder, unable to bring herself to be afraid. If he really wanted to kill her, Lucy knows he would have done so by now. She could pull away if she really wanted to; his grip is loose, fingers just barely resting against her skin, but she stays where she is, waiting for him to speak. She isn't sure why she waits. He tried to kill her—he almost _did_ —but something about his eyes holds her back. There's determination in his gaze, a self-loathing there she can't begin to understand.

She wonders how many times he's been sent after thieves and traitors of the crown, how many times that collar was forced around his throat and dark magic consumed the ice in his veins, turning it to something wicked.

He meets her gaze, hesitating for only a moment, before he straightens his back, towering over her by over a head. His posture isn't threatening, only powerful. "You won't make it back to wherever you're going on that leg," he tells her seriously, voice low and baritone, commanding attention. His expression is serious as he stares down at her, though his gaze swims with concern.

Lucy swallows thickly, wetting her lips absentmindedly. "I'll be fine," she tells him once more, though she doesn't pull away and he doesn't let go. Shifting on her feet, Lucy tries to put pressure on her ankle and winces, her expression twisting unconvincingly as she tests her weight on her leg.

"You can barely walk," he murmurs gently, eyes locking with hers for a long moment. His green eyes search hers, for what, she can't be sure, but he seems to find it. In the next second his gaze hardens, his strong jaw set in determination. Lucy's lips part in confusion, a brow quirking up as she stares at the stranger before her. "I'm coming with you."

Lucy sputters suddenly, her bag crashing back to the ground as her grip slackens in surprise. "Excuse me?" she manages to ask, blinking up at him owlishly. She narrows her eyes at him, glaring, though his gaze doesn't waver. She doesn't need his help. She got to Pergrande on her own, and she make it back just the same.

The Berserker swallows thickly, his head ducking down in embarrassment as he goes ridged, realizing what he's just said. He coughs awkwardly, gaze locked on her ankle, his eyes narrowing in thought. "You stole something from the King," he reminds her gently, voice low and throaty. Lucy's breath catches. "He wants it back. The King will be sending more men as soon as he realizes I'm not coming back." His eyes rise to meet hers, expression steely. "How many Berserks do you think he's going to send after you next?" This time she's the one to look away, her arms curling around herself protectively. She nearly lost to one Berserker, she doubts she could handle another so soon. She has no more tricks left. He sighs, hand slipping from her wrist as he drops down in front of her on one knee, meeting her hesitant gaze. "You just saved my life," he murmurs, "let me do the same."

She's already shaking her head before he's finished, knowing what he wants. "I don't want your blood debt," she whispers hoarsely, staring down into his unnaturally bright eyes. "I don't want your help, and I don't want your life." She's heard stories of Berserker life debts. Blood for blood. A life for a life. She can refuse all she wants, but she doubts it'll detour him. At best, he'll keep out of sight, though she knows he plans to follow her. He won't stop until it's repaid, but she doesn't want it.

His gaze turns curious, confused. "Than what do you want?" he breathes back, as if he can't believe she wants nothing from him. Briefly, she wonders if that sentiment comes from arrogance, but somehow she knows that's not right. In Pergrande, she knows, everything always comes at a price. Even her deal with Cobra, who she's known for years came with a price to pay.

Maybe this is her price for thievery.

"What makes you think I want something?" she asks him, gaze drifting to the scar at his throat, then lower to the bare expanse of his chest down to the glittering gold armor wrapped around his torso. If he notices where her eyes have gone, he says nothing.

He snorts, a low chuckle leaving his lips, no humor to it. "Everyone does," he says simply.

It's quiet between them for a long moment, and Lucy stares at the blue streak of paint across his chest for a second too long. Her eyes rise to meet his once more. "You don't have much faith in people, do you?" It comes out soft—a breath between them, but she knows he's heard her by the way his shoulders go stiff. The Berserker rises to his feet, towering over her once more, though his keeps his head ducked low. He says nothing, so Lucy continues. "Why do you want to help me?" she murmurs.

His gaze snaps to meet hers. "I almost killed you." She thinks it's a bad answer, but doesn't say so out loud. He seems to consider the same thing. "I have no where to go except back to Pergrande." He shakes his head slowly. "And I'd rather be dead." He must see something in her eyes that he doesn't like, because he takes a step back from her, head bowed as his gaze drops to his boots.

Suddenly, he looks back up at her, gaze sharp, grin feral when he looks down at her, wild and full of sharp canines. "Besides, if I wanted, you'd already be dead," he reminds her, a hint of laughter in his eyes. It's a joke, but a poor one, falling flat between them. When Lucy doesn't smile in return, his grin becomes strained and drops.

Lucy stares up at him curiously, not sure what to make of the look in his eyes. She knows she doesn't trust him, not really, but she's sure that if he wanted her dead she would be. Berserkers don't tend to leave people alive unless they want to. And now he thinks he owes her a debt.

Blood debts are sacred, promised to the Gods, and Lucy has read enough to know it won't be so easily broken, nor repaid. He's going to follow her whether she wants him to or not. And truthfully, she could use the help, whether or not she's willing to admit it. She barely survived one Berserker, and he isn't wrong when he says more will be coming. She knew as much when she left Pergrande.

Lucy can only hope that Cobra and Angel were spared. She'll have to write to them when she gets home.

"Don't slow me down," she says suddenly, making a decision and lifting her bag. She turns away from him, heading West once more. She doesn't hear him follow, but she doesn't turn to look back at him, her lips pressed into a thin line, unsure if she's making the right decision.

"Natsu," he calls after her when she doesn't stop. Suddenly, his footsteps sound behind her. "My name is Natsu."

She hesitates before telling him her own name, sucking on her teeth, but she glances over her shoulder and his expression is so earnest that she finds herself softening just the slightest. "Lucy," she replies, softer than she means to, her voice still rough.

Natsu sends her a slow smile.

* * *

 **AN: (3/13/18) I'm hoping to post at least one more revised chapter tonight, possibly two, but I also have like six other things to do, so we'll see.**

 **AN: (original AN) Why is this chapter so long? I didn't mean to make it this long! Hope you guys enjoyed it! As always, if we can hit 50 reviews before Wednesday, I'll do a double chapter next week! (Hopefully, I have some papers due). Also, once this fic hits 200 follows I'll do a Q &A for this fic! Any questions at all (though I won't be giving away major spoilers)! Have a nice day and don't forget to leave a review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Edited 3/13/18. Changes occur throughout, mostly in regards to dialogue.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Seven**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

They've been walking for over half a day and neither have said anything, both too preoccupied with their thoughts to bother with small talk. Natsu never has been good at it anyway. There was never any reason for trivial conversation back in Pergrande. Even if there were, Natsu doubts he would have been able to keep up his half of the conversation. There's not much for him to talk about when he's spent half his life rotting away in a cell. Regardless, the thief, Lucy, hardly seems up to pleasantries at the moment.

From several paces behind the girl, Natsu keeps rapt attention to every move she makes, every tentative step and how she's been cradling an arm close to her chest, prodding for broken ribs when she thinks he isn't watching. Judging by the grimace on her face, she'll have some nasty bruises come morning, possibly a fracture. Praying to Djehl, Natsu hopes that's the worst of it.

Natsu doesn't mean to watch so closely, but every time he looks away guilt begins to crawl up his throat, just as it always does when he gains back control of himself. He should have fought harder against the King's control, should have just killed the man when he had the opportunity. There was a split second of clarity when she hit him, a ray of light coming through the red in his eyes. For a moment he could see the sheer terror in her eyes as she stared up at him, he could feel the twinge of pain from his arm.

Then the red took over again; it swallowed him whole and consumed him just as it always does— _did_ , he hopes, staring at the golden tips of her hair swishing across her back. She wouldn't collar him again, he thinks. Not after seeing what it did.

He hadn't lied to her earlier, when she asked why he wanted to help her. He wants to make sure she makes it home to whoever might be waiting for her. Her leg won't hold out for long, and he doesn't want her getting caught and dragged back to Pergrande. He doesn't want the people she loves to be left wondering what became of her. If he can get her home, maybe the guilt will stop tearing at his lungs. And he meant it when he said he has nowhere else to go. Frankly, he would rather she kill him now than turn him in to Pergrande. There's nothing there for him but more death and the endless red haze that curls through his mind like smoke.

A hand goes to his throat, fingertips tracing along the scar on his neck and for a moment Natsu allows himself to close his eyes, his muscles going lax as he feels pale, raised skin rather than steel or gold, no freezing metal biting into his throat for the first time in years.

A small smile quirks at his lips, but only for a moment before he opens his eyes and watches as Lucy stumbles, her ankle rolling beneath her.

Natsu lunges forward before she can fall, one arm catching her by the wrist as the other curls close to her back, holding her steady. She tenses at the sudden touch, but doesn't pull away. Hurt stings at his chest, but Natsu ignores it, knowing that she has every right to be afraid of his hands—her throat began to turn an alarming shade of deep purple only minutes after they started walking, bruises bleeding beneath her skin rapidly. If he looks closely enough, Natsu can see the imprint of his fingers in her skin and it's all he can do to swallow the bile in his throat.

He can't for the life of him understand why she allowed him to follow after her. Perhaps, if she wasn't so shaken so never would have agreed to it, though it wouldn't have stopped him from following from a distance. Perhaps she knows this.

She said she didn't want his blood dept, but he figures that isn't her choice to make. Blood oaths are sacred to his kind, and debts more so than anything are meant to be upheld. A life for a life is something Igneel instilled in him. Blood for blood. A Berserk never leaves a debt unfulfilled, not so long as they still breathe. And whether Lucy wants it or not, she has it, even if his motives are partially selfish.

Lucy releases a shaky little breath, snapping his attention back to the woman in his arms, and she surprises him by leaning into the palm resting against her spine, using him to keep the weight off her injured leg. Natsu simply lets her, pressing his hand to her back firmly and allowing her to catch her breath. She releases a small, quivering sound that he wouldn't hear if he wasn't blessed by Djehl and his jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together as he registers the distressed sound.

Natsu's gaze drifts to the bruises around her throat before snapping to her wrist as he feels her pulse jump beneath his fingers. She doesn't snap at him as he runs his thumb along the thin skin of her inner arm, and though he finds that odd, he doesn't comment on the small fact, aware that she's in more pain than she's been letting on. Lucy looks at him then, and a cool fist grips at his heart as he sees something wet gleaming in her eyes.

Lucy wobbles on her good leg as Natsu releases her, a sharp inhale the only sound between them as Natsu drops onto a knee in front of her. His fingers curl around her thigh just above her knee, grip firm as he holds her in place. Lucy peers down at him in shock, something both curious and afraid swirling through her amber eyes. He hesitates then, glancing between her eyes and her injured ankle, but ultimately decides to take a chance. If she tells him to stop, he will, but Natsu won't have her hurting herself further.

He jerks his chin down sharply, nodding towards her ankle. "Can I…" He leaves the question half-hanging between them, his tongue suddenly feeling heavy and thick in his mouth. He isn't sure he has the right to ask. Natsu wets his lips, glancing wearily up at the woman, gauging her reaction to his hand on her leg.

Her gaze jumps from his down to the hand on her leg, then slides down to her boot and her sure to be swollen ankle. She purses her lips, expression unreadable when she meets his gaze again, and Natsu thinks she's about to snap at him.

When she nods, it's jerky and he can see the muscles in her jaw jump as she clenches her teeth, but it's a nod nonetheless.

Natsu mumbles a quiet word in the old tongue and draws her forward a step, hoisting her leg up closer to his face. She stumbles a bit, hopping to keep from tumbling to the ground, and her hands come to rest against his shoulders. The touch is hesitant at first, little more than a ghosting of her fingers against his bare skin, but then he tugs on the lacing of her boot and those fingers curl around his arms and dig into his shoulder blades hard enough to hurt. Nails bite into his skin hard enough to draw blood, but Natsu says nothing, merely lets her grip him to the bone so long as it takes her focus away from her leg.

It doesn't hurt him.

Her laces come loose and he gives her leg a brief squeeze when she hisses, murmuring a quiet apology as he feels her grip on him tighten in pain. When he glances up at her, she's watching his hands, something in her eyes that he recognizes painfully. "You don't trust me," he states casually, gaining her attention almost instantly just like he wanted. She peers down at him curiously, and Natsu glances up when he feels her eyes on him.

He meets her unflinching gaze, something swelling in his chest when he sees no fear in her eyes, just fascination and perhaps surprise. Distrust, but no venom.

Lucy holds his gaze, amber eyes narrowing just the slightest as she stares him down. "Should I?" she asks slowly, lips pressing into a thin line. Natsu starts to wiggle her boot off, but stills when he sees her grimace. She says nothing else, waiting for him to respond. Good, he thinks, he wants her attention on him, not her foot. If he can get her to relax, even just for a moment, he might be able to do this without hurting her more than necessary.

He pauses, considering her question as he runs a thumb along the thin cotton of her stocking, the fabric soft against his fingers. Her question rings in his ears. "Maybe not," he murmurs back, something bitter crawling through him like a sickness. If she's smart, which he thinks she must be to have tricked her way into a castle and steal from a King, she wouldn't take anything he says without skepticism.

Natsu has never met a man or woman who trusted him before; he doesn't expect anything from her. He's heard all of the stories. For a long time they made him fear himself.

Lucy snorts. "Reassuring," she drawls, drumming her fingers against his shoulders. Natsu glances up at her, but she isn't looking at him, her gaze far off. Her boot finally comes loose, and though she winces, she doesn't make a sound.

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, his throat tight, as if there were ghostly fingers curled around his neck. Natsu glances up at her own neck, the purple and black bruising a bitter reminder of the beast lurking just beneath the surface. No, he thinks again, she shouldn't trust him. Not when he barely trusts himself. "I'm not going to hurt you again," he promises, more to himself than her. May Djehl take his soul before he lays another hand on her.

A beat of silence. "You said that before," she reminds him, though not unkindly. He runs a light finger against her swollen ankle, frowning at how puffy the skin looks, even beneath the cotton of her sock. Lucy flinches and he pats her knee in apology.

There's a long stretch of silence as he considers removing her stocking to get a good look at the area but doesn't want to push his luck.

"I meant it." His fingers drift higher on her thigh, fingering the clasp attaching her stocking to the holster around her leg. Natsu looks up, meeting her eyes and asking for silent permission remove the fabric. Lucy gives a sharp nod and he wastes no time undoing the little clasp. "I don't hurt people who haven't done anything wrong," he continues, slowly pulling the sock down her leg with a gentle hand, the other cradling the back of her knee to keep her foot from touching the ground.

Lucy quirks a brow as she watches him, snorting softly. When she smiles it's wry, almost bitter, but it's a smile nonetheless. "Just the ones that deserve it?" she asks him. He thinks it might be a joke, but he can't be sure.

His lips curve up at the edges, more teeth than smile. "Maybe," he replies breezily, wetting his lips as he bites back the truth, not wanting to scare her more than she probably already is.

Finally, he tugs off her stocking, only to drop it immediately once he sees the ugly bruising around her ankle. The swelling looks worse now that he can see it clearly, and Natsu has to swallow down the acid in his throat as the color makes him gag. He's seen much worse than this, but blood is easier than a sickening blackness swirling beneath the skin.

The hands on his shoulders still, her grip going soft as Natsu runs a gentle fingers along her calf, stopping before he can prod the bruised skin of her ankle. Natsu sucks in an angry breath as he stares down at the swollen joint that she's been walking on all morning. If he had have know it was this bad he wouldn't have let her keep walking all this time. Though that probably wouldn't have stopped her.

Lucy's fingers suddenly skim the side of his neck, tickling the raised skin of his scar.

He shouldn't be touching her, not after what he did.

For a moment, he thinks about letting go of her leg and walking away, but when he looks up the pain in her eyes makes him pause. His grip on her thigh tightens just the slightest when he catches sight of her glistening eyes, her lip caught between her teeth as she holds back a hiss. Her breathing is shallow, he notices, shallow and fast, like she can't take in enough air.

"Hold onto me. Tight," he commands suddenly, keeping one hand on her leg as he reaches behind himself. Lucy blinks down at him, confused, but says nothing as he slips a hand into the back of his boot. Her fingers curl tighter around his arms as Natsu pulls out a long, red piece of fabric from where it was wrapped around his own leg. "If it hurts, squeeze," Natsu tells her lowly, eyes rising to meet hers slowly. "Don't pull away. Okay?" She gives a jerky nod, her fingers digging into his skin.

Bandaging her ankle is slow work. Lucy's breath catches in her throat every time he winds the fabric around her ankle, her leg tensing as the wrap is pulled flush against her skin. She doesn't pull away, but her nails do dig into his shoulders hard enough that he can feel his skin split and bleed. He murmurs soft words as he wraps her ankle, unsure if she knows what he's saying. Regardless, it seems to calm her, if only a little.

When he finishes, he doesn't release her leg, not right away. Lucy allows him to slip her boot back over her foot, the laces left undone to reduce the discomfort. When he looks up again, she's smiling and it takes him by surprise.

"Thank you," Lucy whispers, voice barely loud enough for him to hear, despite how silent the forest has fallen. Her thumbs brush against the sides of his neck briefly, and his skin prickles at the unfamiliar touch. Natsu holds her gaze for a long moment, searching her eyes for any flickers of pain or fear, but finding none.

He squeezes her calf gently, lowering her foot back to the ground. Her nails bite into his shoulders as he does, but she says nothing as her foot meets the earth. "You won't be able to run on this," he tells her, prying his hand away from her leg and standing slowly. "Not for at least a few weeks." Lucy grimaces, but nods, and Natsu feels a sting in his chest at the nervous look in her eyes. "You shouldn't even be walking on it," he tacks on slowly, wishing he say something to ease her frustration.

Lucy snorts when she hears him, and there's a half-smile on her lips.

Without a word her hands slip from his shoulders, trailing down his arms only briefly before her fingers curl around his wrists. He glances down curiously, watching in fascination as her pale skin ghosts against his. Natsu is so lost in the wonder of it all that he's shocked when she slips to the ground, gentle hands pulling him down with her. His gaze flicks between her face and the place where her hands meet his skin, a frown pulling at his lips. Lucy merely smile, settling onto the earth, mindful of her ankle as she shifts.

Natsu moves slower than she does, torn between wonder and the nervous pinching in his gut. Lucy gives his arms a sharp tug then, nearly jerking him down beside her. His brow furrows as he slips down in front of her, not saying a word as she releases him in favor of pulling the bag from her shoulders. A cloth is pulled out, white and rumpled from being jostled around. A canteen comes next, and Natsu stares as she twists open the cap before pressing the open mouth to the cloth, dampening it.

Lucy doesn't breathe a word as she reaches out, hand trembling only the slightest as she leans into him. One hand goes back to his shoulder, the other slipping to his chest. Natsu follows her movement, his shoulders going stiff as she dabs at the bloody wound towards the left of his chest, one he hadn't noticed before. He looks up just in time to catch a glimpse of her eyes, seeing his own guilt reflected in her.

There's a gentleness in her touch that causes a tight fist to curl around his throat and _squeeze_. He doesn't deserve it, he thinks. Not her silent guilt and not her soft fingers prodding at the deep wound on his chest, soothing the phantom ache in his bones and wiping away the blood.

Berserks heal faster than most, their wounds closing easily, though scaring badly. This wouldn't be the first he's received on a mission from the King, and no one has ever looked at the wounds before, leaving him to his own devices.

The silence pulls at him uncomfortably, and Natsu finds himself speaking without truly meaning to. "There's a difference, you know," he mumbles, staring down at her hand as she continues to wipe away the blood, "between our natural berserk state and the one we're forced into by the collars." He figures she must know this already, but he finds himself telling her anyway, if only do quiet the deafening silence surrounding them. The quiet never used to scare him, but suddenly it feels suffocating.

To his surprise, Lucy stills, glancing up at him for a moment before pulling the bloody cloth from his chest and squeezing out the blood. He flinches as the squelching sound the cloth makes, the bloody water dripping onto the grass to his left. "What do you mean?" she whispers back, wetting the cloth once more and dabbing at his chest. The hand on his shoulder tightens for just a moment as she leans in closer, and Natsu belatedly realizes she smells of something like stardust.

Natsu swallows thickly, chewing his cheek as he considers his words carefully. "The collars send us into a state of bloodlust," he tells her gently, head tilting back to stare at the sky, half-hidden behind the winding branches of Fairy Trees. "In that moment everything is red." A shiver crawls up his spine, and Lucy pauses, her gaze darting up to look at him. Natsu doesn't notice her eyes on him. "We want nothing more than death and blood on our hands." He pauses, chancing a glance down at her. Her amber gaze meets his, unflinching. "We would kill our best friend and not even know it," Natsu finishes, softer than before. Shame creeps into his heart as he thinks of the blood on his hands that will never be washed away.

For a long moment, Lucy stays quiet. Her hands still against him, and the wet cloth drips, bloody water trailing down his chest in slow lines. "And without the stones?" she asks cautiously, gauging his reaction as she glances between the bloody rag and the wound on his chest, hesitant to press the cloth back to his torn flesh.

Raising his hand to his chest, Natsu lets his larger palm rest over hers, long fingers ghosting over hers. Lucy stares up at him, not pulling away, and for that Natsu is grateful. He doesn't want her to be afraid of him. He holds her gaze, expression more serious that he's ever worn before. "We would fight to our last breath for what we hold dear," he explains gently. A breeze whirls around them, cool against his burning flesh. Her fingers curl against his just the slightest. "It's not about the killing," he continues gently, "it's about protecting."

Algiz.

He glances down at his own chest, noticing the smear of blue paint across his skin, too smudged with blood and sweat to read. It's no matter. The paint is only a formality—a sign to the other Berserks what he stands for. Whether or not he has the symbol branded into his flesh, it will always be humming in his bones.

Lucy considers this as his hand slips from hers, falling to his side wish a soft slap. It takes a moment, but her fingers go back to prodding the open wound. It stings when she presses the rag against the ugly mark, but he holds still for her, letting her hand peruse the gash as she needs. It's silent for a beat, Lucy lost to her thoughts and him biting back a hiss when she presses down too hard.

"So when you attacked me…" she starts suddenly, trailing off before she can finish the question burning at her mind. Natsu screws his eyes shut as she pulls her hand away to ring out the cloth once more. Her hand falls from his shoulder, drifting back to her bag quickly only to pull out what he thinks must be a bottle of whiskey. A cork is pulled from the top, the red symbol of Pergrande branded into the sponge material. He snorts, wondering where she must have stole it from. Lucy flashes him a look, dousing the cloth with the burning liquid.

He wrinkles his nose as the smell hits him, steeling himself for the inevitable sting. "I was told to kill you by My King," Natsu tells her bitterly, his hands clenching into fists atop his lap, "and I would have done it." He grits his teeth as the cloth is pressed to his skin, his muscles going rigid. Lucy mumbles a soft word, soothing him as her hand falls to rest atop one of his. Natsu swallows down the lump in his throat, continuing before he can stop himself. "Your blood was the only thing I could smell. I could taste it." He grimaces and Lucy stills for just a beat. Her thumb brushes against the back of his hand. "And I wanted it," he spits the words as if they're poisonous, and to him they may as well be. Disgust curls through him, but he says nothing else.

"The collars make you lose freewill," Lucy replies simply. "There was black magic in that stone. A possession charm. Bad Fae magic." She pauses in her work, glancing up at him with something unreadable in her eyes. Her lips part, a question on her tongue, but she says nothing for a long moment.

"Did it hurt? When they made you wear it?" she finally asks, tossing the cloth aside and pulling a bandage from her pack. Natsu hesitates at the question, then nods silently, wondering why she's asking. Lucy hums in thought. "Why did he put it on you?"

He shrugs, shoulder jerking up roughly and she pats the back of his hand gently. He purses his lips, unsure how to put it. "I was being disobedient," he decides upon, the words sounding vile between them. "I told him I wouldn't kill you, so he was going to make me do it anyway." Lucy's head snaps up, eyes wide, but Natsu cuts her off before she can speak. "So why'd you take it?

"What?" she sputters, confusion clouding her eyes.

Natsu almost smiles. Almost. He nods to where he can sense the stone in her pocket, the scent of magic heavy in the air. "You stole the King's jewel," he reminds, amusement creeping into his tone. His lips quirk up at the edges, faint but there. Lucy eyes rip away from his, a darkness creeping over her, and Natsu considers dropping the question—changing the subject to something lighter. His tongue sticks in his mouth when he tries to speak once more, heavy and thick, and the words become caught in his throat.

The breeze around them grows stronger suddenly, and Natsu frowns in confusion as Lucy's hair begins to ruffle, beginning to swirl around her almost violently. Bewildered, Natsu glances around the stretch of grass they've come to rest in the middle of, noting that the no wind has stirred the trees surrounding them. His gaze snaps back to the girl before him, the scent of stardust growing stronger and stronger until the wind suddenly stops all together, as if it was never there to begin with.

Lucy doesn't speak for a long moment, the air between them growing colder with every passing minute. The wound on his chest is cleaned, then bandaged with a cloth and foul smelling paste than makes his nose sting. Once finished, Lucy leans back against her hands, her knee bumping against his as she gazes up at the sky in silence.

"I stole it back," she says suddenly, shoulders going stiff as his head snaps up to watch her. Her eyes drift to meet his, something melancholy hiding in her warm, honey eyes.

Natsu leans forward, curiosity pulling at him. Stole it back? Natsu's eyes narrow, not understanding. From what he understands, that gem has been a Centari heirloom for as far back as it has existed. As if sensing his thoughts, Lucy continues, her lips twisting into a grim line. "It had been in my family for generations before His Majesty," she spits mockingly, "took it from us."

Cold realization hits him harder than he would ever admit aloud. "That stone has magical powers," he murmurs, pausing only to swear in the old tongue, a foul word the clings to the air between them, "but only in the hands of Faeborne." His nose wrinkles as he smells stardust once more and Lucy shifts uncomfortably. He should have guessed it earlier, but it had never crossed his mind to think that a Faeborne would dare to enter the red city.

If the King had caught her—Natsu shivers, banishing the thought from his mind.

"You entered the Red City for an old jewel?" His eyes narrow at her, disbelieving. "You know what happens to the Faeborne in Pergrande." It's almost chastising when he says it, and she sends him a look that cows him.

"Of course I know what happens," she snaps back, glaring as the wind begins to pick up around them once more. "I know better than you," she continues, softer but just as biting. "I had greater business in Ðüskell," she offers in explanation, leaving him curious, but revealing nothing more.

Lucy wets her lips, curling in on herself slowly. Before he can stop himself, Natsu reaches out and places a hand on her bare thigh, just above her knee. Her head snaps up at the touch, hesitant and fearful, but Natsu merely gives her a squeeze, hoping she understands his silent support. She sighs, once hand coming to rest just above him, just barely touching him.

"The last true Faeborne of my family was my great, great grandmother Anna," she whispers to him suddenly, as if someone could be listening. He raises a brow at the change in subject, but doesn't comment. "She was an elemental spirit." A breeze swirls around them, almost a caress. "Air." A small, bitter smile pulls at her lips. "Our line has diluted," she finishes softly.

The wind ruffles his hair. "But you still have magic in you," he murmurs back, stardust on his tongue. The taste sends an odd, pleasant shiver up his spine, the raw magic of the Fae curling through him soothingly. There's something about her magic, the tingle it sends through him, far gentler than the King's black magic. He wonders if all Faeborne have magic so soft, but shakes the thought away before he can breathe the words to her.

Her smile is sad when she meets his eyes, a hint of defeat swirling in her irises. "Not much." She plucks at a blade of grass by her side.

Above them, the sky begins to bleed red and gold, violet swirling through the clouds as the sun begins to set. Natsu hadn't meant to keep them so long, traveling in the darkness is dangerous, especially when he can't be sure who might be following them. His lips purse, jaw clenching. He glances back at Lucy, only to find her frowning up at the dusky sky as well.

Her words echo in his mind, a low whisper of "not much" swirling through him. He stares down at his own hands, remembering how powerless he felt in the King's cages. "Enough," he blurts suddenly. Lucy's head snaps around to look at him. "You have just enough," he tells her, honestly burning bright in his eyes. The scent of stardust grows thicker in the air, though Natsu can't be sure whether it's because of Lucy or the growing darkness of the sky, the red and golds giving way to a beautiful violet. He can almost see the stars.

* * *

 **AN: (3/13/18) Hey, so, remember this is all just revisions. I'm only keeping old ANs attached because they're a documentation of what was happening during the original write of this fic. Anything about double updates is no longer relevant.**

 **AN: (old, before rewrite) Holy crap I'm posting this quick before my computer dies! Please be sure to leave a review folks! They make me cry out of joy (also 76 last chapter? I actually almost cried about that, thank you all! You're the greatest!) Next chapter is Saturday!**

 **Also, this fic ht 200 follows! It's time to do a Q &A for this fic! Any questions at all (though I won't be giving away major spoilers)! Have a nice day and don't forget to leave a review! Questions will be answered at the end of the next chapter! 3**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Changes made throughout. Edited 3/15/18.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Eight**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

"Where are you from?"

Lucy glances up at him, surprised by the sudden question. Her hands fall still in her lap, ceasing their endless cleaning of her knives. He's been watching her for several minutes now and her hands haven't stopped moving until just now. A nervous tick, he thinks, something to keep her hands busy to distract her. She's restless, ready to run should she need to, that much is clear.

Natsu can understand that. He's been doing the same thing, rolling a smooth stone between his fingers and picking clumps of dirt from the bottom of his boots, anything to keep his mind off the King and his men. Anything to stop himself from going back to the rings and the bloodshed. Those memories always creep back to him, worming into his thoughts without permission.

Natsu stretches suddenly, his spine making a satisfying cracking sound as he twists himself around from where he's lying on the ground. Lucy watches him, gaze following his movements, but she says nothing. He leaves her to her silence, staring up at the stars through the trees above them and wondering how long they'll be able to last without finding trouble.

He's finding it hard to believe nearly a week has passed since he met her. It's surreal, and Natsu's been waiting for himself to wake up. It hasn't happened yet.

If he is dreaming he doesn't want to wake up.

"What?" Lucy finally answers in a whisper, gaining his attention once more.

Natsu turns to her, registering the confusion in her eyes with a small smile. They haven't spoken much, not since that first day. They've been too busy stumbling along since, both too exhausted and tense to make decent conversation. She still doesn't trust him, her gaze sharp whenever she looks at him and she hesitates before answering his questions, never revealing much aside from that first day, when she told him of her Fae heritage.

He isn't foolish enough to think it's because she trusts him with the information, even if she has relaxed some. Everything she's told him is either vague or useless or something he could guess on his own. Hundred year old names mean little to him, and he would have known she was Fae without her telling him. She won't tell him why she was in Pergrande, and though he cares little for the country, it puts him on edge.

She's hiding things, but then so is he. He just doesn't know which of them is better at it.

He meets Lucy's eyes, watching as she sets her knives to the side and shifts to pull her legs close to her chest, arms winding around them slowly. For all purposes, she seems relaxed, calm, but he can see the slight tension in her shoulders, eyes watching for any sudden movements from him.

And he knows she's faster than him.

Her eyes shine gold in the firelight, reflecting a glint of the flames. Natsu watches them flicker for a moment too long before tearing his eyes away, choosing instead to look up at the sky. "Where are you from?" he repeats, tracing the shape of Alturez, the Horned Serpent, with his eyes.

It's nice to see the constellations again after so long.

The fire crackles between them, little wisps of flame dancing through the blackness surrounding them. She swallows loud enough for him to hear, and when he looks at her she has her lower lip trapped between her teeth. Her eyes don't leave his, calculating as she considers what to say.

He doesn't press for an answer, unwilling to make her more uncomfortable than he assumes she must be. The silence stretching between them isn't comfortable, but it's oddly familiar after such a short time.

Lucy sighs through her nose after several minutes. A flicker of pain crosses her eyes, but it's gone before Natsu can be sure it wasn't a trick of the light. Natsu finds his gaze suddenly drawn to the silver bandages coiled around her shoulder.

He didn't ask and he knows she won't tell.

His eyes meets hers again, and her lips twist up into a small, bitter smile. "All Faeborne hail from Enca," she murmurs, voice barely a hum between them. She traces a circle in the dirt beside her, gaze suddenly far away. Natsu doesn't have to tell her that he already knows this.

"Anna," she starts slowly, testing the words, "first came to Pergrande nearly one hundred years ago. She was searching for an adventure." A short bark of a laugh tears from her, her hand clenching into a fist. They both know what happened after that. The Civil War. The slaughter. Lucy continues after a long moment, pulling the gemstone from her jacket. It glints in the light, pulsing with magic, and Natsu shivers as the raw energy from the stone creeps through his bones. "She ran, but not far enough." Lucy shoves it back into her pocket, eyes locking with his. "I was born in Fiore."

Fiore is clear across the Ishgar peninsula from Pergrande, as far as anyone can go and stay on the continent. Yet, it still wasn't far enough. He doubts anywhere is far enough from Pergrande.

Natsu's eyes widen just the slightest at the information, his lips parting in shock. "You were born in Fiore?" he repeats, a sick feeling churning at his stomach. He's been wondering where they're headed, knowing it was far, but not how far. His teeth clench together tightly, a muscle jumping in his jaw as his entire body goes rigid.

After a moment, he squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to think of the years he spent in Fiore. Not wanting to think of the rings and Igneel, the night the Pergrande soldiers came and slaughtered them all.

Lucy notices the sudden stillness that washes over him, Natsu's gaze growing hard, but she says nothing, "In Crocus," she tells him quietly. He wonders why she's telling him this at all, and settles that they aren't going to Crocus at all. She wouldn't be telling him if they were.

Nothing good comes from Crocus. It's where the rich and powerful go to watch men slaughter each other for entertainment. Crocus is a black spot staining Fiore once the lights go out. He's only seen the city in the daylight once, very briefly, but it was magnificent: full of life. The city was the most amazing thing he's ever seen, and it would have continued to stay that way, had he not seen what happens when the shadows come.

Crocus is a breeding ground for monsters of men.

Natsu opens his eyes slowly, head lolling to the side in order to look at her. Lucy holds his gaze, something melancholy in her eyes. For a moment, her fingers twitch and he thinks she's about to reach out for him, but she stills just as suddenly as she had moved, curling in on herself where she sits. Natsu feels himself drawn back to the flickering light in her eyes, the warm amber and honey mixture appearing a brilliant gold in the darkness.

Gold, he thinks, must give him a loose tongue.

"I used to live there, in Crocus," he tells her just as softly. The words stick in his throat, coming out gruff and shaky. "I was born in Alvarez," Natsu explains, seeing her expression twist into one of confusion, "brought to Fiore by traders." Here, she flinches at the sharpness of his words, the growl ripping from his throat. Natsu quiets once more, sending her an apologetic expression. He hadn't meant to scare her.

Silence sweeps across them, Natsu turning back to the stars and Lucy appearing lost in thought a few feet away. He goes back to counting the stars, tracing the constellations with practiced ease. It's been years since he's been able to see them like this, the night so clear that none are masked by the city lights. He hasn't been able to lie like this for many years now, not since before Pergrande and Igneel, before he was sold off and handed to traffickers.

He hears Lucy shift beside him, a cool gust of air coming to ruffle his hair gently, almost a ghostly hand curling through the bright strands. The breeze curls across his jaw, soft and slow, and Natsu wonders just how much she's able to control the zephyrs. He smiles to himself, thin and broken, and the breeze suddenly disappears.

She's silent for a long moment after her magic creeps back to her. "What happened?" she asks him softly, almost nervously. He can't say that he blames her.

Sighing to himself, Natsu rolls onto his side to face her, preparing himself to tell her what little he remembers. It's only fair after what she's told him, even if it is just bits and pieces.

"I was taught to fight in the arenas when I was young," he starts, expression grim. "Maybe nine years old? I don't like to remember." Natsu's lips twist into something bitter, but he softens when he looks at Lucy. "I was only there for a few years, if that. Time was hard to tell in the arenas." He keeps Igneel to himself for the time being, his heart giving a sore ache as he thinks about his foster father. "Eventually the King came and took us away," he finishes simply, his hands beginning to tremble before him. He avoids Lucy's gaze.

She shifts, sliding in a bit closer. "You were sold to Pergrande," she murmurs, breathing the words so only he can hear.

He's shaking his head before she can finish. "Not sold," he corrects, "taken by." A snarl builds in his throat but he swallows it down, his hands beginning to shake wildly as he remembers that night. The scar on his throat throbs with phantom pains, and Natsu can almost feel the blade slicing through his skin once more. He can practically see the way Igneel's chest gave one last shudder before falling eerily still.

She doesn't ask when, and he reasons that she must already know. The night was the first of many bloody nights in Fiore over a short amount of time. Pergrande came for all of them then, hunting until no one was left. He wonders who she must have lost.

Natsu shifts onto his back, eyes immediately finding Djarta, the Silver Crown of the Northern Sky. "Are the rings—" he starts suddenly, cutting himself off just as quickly. Perhaps, it's best if he doesn't know. He's had hope all these years, praying that they may have been shut down after the Red Night, but he knows nothing for fact, only whispers and rumors, all conflicting.

Lucy hesitates only briefly. "Alive? Yes." He can her swallow from where she rests. "People have tried, but—" Lucy sighs, shaking her head. He understands. The rings have become so ingrained in society he doubts they could be so easily shut down.

The Red Night was practically nothing to them. There are always more Berserks to steal from their homes. Always more to watch bleed for their own amusement. Natsu doubts even the King could have them disbanded entirely. There would always be those still lurking in the shadows, hid in the underground. At least if they're legal they can be regulated, even if only a little.

Either way he thinks of it, it's cruelty all the same.

"Tell me about Alvarez," Lucy asks him suddenly, drawing his thoughts back to the present. He glances at her curiously, but she's looking up at the stars, tracing their shapes with her eyes. Stardust sweeps through him, tickling his senses, and he finds himself smiling.

There's a tinge of darkness in the air, nearly hidden beneath the scent of her and the stars above them, but there all the same. His stomach twists at the smell of decay, but he thinks nothing of it, sure that it's only the wound on his chest battling infection. It's been tickling his nose for days now, and he's sure that must be it.

Lucy tried her best with washing it, but there's only so much she could do.

"I don't remember much," he warns her, unsure he could spin the tale he thinks she might be looking for. Pergrande must be the farthest she's ever been from home, he thinks, judging by how nervous she's been, how her little ticks have lessoned some since they've been getting closer to the border. Or, he frowns, she may just be growing more relaxed around him.

Not an easy feat, he's been told. There are very few that he's meet that can grow comfortable in the presence of a Berserk, least of all in only a handful of days. Usually they keep their guard up around him, ready to drive a blade through his chest should he give them the chance. It amazes him that Lucy is comfortable enough to sleep in his presence, sure that he won't hurt her.

She twists back around to face him, a small smile on her lips, something amusement in her eyes. "But you do remember some things," she prods gently, more to keep him talking than to force him to speak. He watches as her eyes grow heavy with sleep, the gold in her eyes growing cloudy, hazy, as the goddess Djerda pulls at her.

Her breathing grows slow as she relaxes, her heartbeat slow but strong. Natsu smiles, deciding to humor her as she drifts off.

"I remember how cold it was," he starts, gazing up at the stars as his own eyes grow heavy, "how beautiful the ice and snow were." His lips twist into a grin as he thinks about the winter, how it would creep through the land like a familiar ghost, suddenly there over night. "My family and I, we lived on the coast, far north." Her breathing grows rhythmic, and Natsu thanks Djerda for letting her rest so soundly. "Everything smelled of salt and the air was so cold it burned in winter." Lucy laughs lightly, amused by the wonder in his words. "In the summer the ice would melt away. There was a valley full of wildflowers that my mother used to love." His smile turns sad, a coldness creeping into his chest. "I've never seen anything like it since."

Lucy hums lowly, and when Natsu glances at her, her eyes are shut, her expression soft. "Sounds nice," she murmurs, a slur to her words as sleep tugs at her mind.

He smiles, warmth curling through his chest as he remembers his homeland. "It was."

"What was your family like?" Lucy asks him, the words barely intelligible as she curls tighter around herself.

Natsu waits until she drifts off to answer her final question. "I don't remember."

* * *

They've been making good time. The days passing quickly, though they haven't made it anywhere near far enough from Ðüskell, not yet. They probably never will. It's been making him more anxious than he'd care to admit, a sensation tickling at the back of his thoughts. They aren't moving fast enough, and it's only a matter of time before someone catches up to them. Someone will be coming for them soon, Lucy a thief and Natsu branded as a traitor to the Throne.

At best they'll both be killed for it. Though he doubts either of them will be quite so lucky. Especially not Lucy. Everyone knows what happens to Fae found in Pergrande, and it isn't something Natsu would wish on anyone.

They've been making good time, but it isn't enough.

The swelling in her ankle has gone down considerably, the bruising dimming to a pale purple, green and yellow bleeding from the edges, but it's still slowing her down. And Natsu knows it hurts more than she's letting on. He just doesn't know if she's putting on a brave face to keep him from worrying or to keep him from thinking another fight with her will be easy.

Natsu glances at her as they walk, studying her with a careful eye, curious.

Her throat has gone from near black to something lighter, the bruises paling, though no where close to disappearing. The shape of his fingers have dulled to a sickly yellow, only noticeable if he's looking for them. The bruise still bleeds black in the center, where his palm gripped her throat with the intent to suffocate her. It was still terrible to look at, but at least it no longer looks like his hand.

It's been hours since they woke, the sun now high in the sky behind them. In only just over a week they've managed to make it a ways away from the capital, Duskell settled farther east. The western mountains are just barely visible in the distance now.

It's amazing, really. Despite being injured, she hasn't slowed down at all, only stopping to rest when he suggests it first. He isn't quite sure if that's a sign of a strong will or arrogance, but he admires her strength regardless. Natsu doesn't think he's ever met someone with quite so much fire in them.

If he didn't know better, he would have guessed her to be a fire elemental.

For a moment, he thinks about what little she's told him about the Fae—about her ancestor Anna. He's never heard much about Fae lore, Alvarez is clear across the world from Enca, and Igneel only knew tales from the northlands where he grew up. Natsu is relatively blind to the legends of Fae, only having heard snippets of conversations in Pergrande, mostly the same facts repeated among the guards.

Typically, those facts strayed more towards the otherworldly beauty of the Fae, how they could completely rapture a man with a single look and devour them with ease. Maneaters, he's been told they are, though, he can't be sure which way they devour men. He has no true interest in finding out. His lips press into a thin line as he recalls the few words he'd heard exchanged in front of his cell one morning, only a few months back. One of the guards had told another of his encounter with a Fae, a dark-skinned beauty with eyes so dark he was lost in them. Ethereal, he had called her, lamenting the way she disappeared soon after. Practically a goddess.

He glances sideways at Lucy, deciding that the legend must be true.

"Tell me about the Fae," he asks her, suddenly curious about what she comes from. She glances up at his from his left, her eyes a bit wide as she processes his words, suspicious, but his expression must be honest enough, because she softens slightly.

He bumps his hand against hers, oddly playful, as she manages to keep pace with him.

A pensive expression crossed Lucy's face as she processes his words. Her lips twist into a small, thoughtful frown, her brow pinching together tightly. "I don't really know much," she admits softly, kicking at a stray rock with her good leg. "There are a few things that my Grandfather told me, but nothing that's clear to me."

Natsu shrugs, it's more than he knows, surely. "That's better than nothing," he tells her, tilting his head down to meet her gaze. She rolls her eyes, but there's something almost fond in her expression. Her lips quirk up at the edges and she shakes her head slowly.

"I suppose," she muses a moment later. She says nothing after that, and Natsu begins to think she won't respond at all. "They have the power to grant gifts," she tells him suddenly, glancing up at him for a second. "Or, they did," she murmurs, something bitter in her words, "a hundred years ago. There are no pure Fae left anymore, and gifts are rare things."

Natsu considers this. "Blessed objects," he mumbles back, aware of their existence, though he's never seen one himself. They're rare, from what he's gathered, typically passed through family lines, unseen by outsiders. He can understand why. To his understanding, Fae are picky about those they bless, only choosing those they find truly deserving to grant an object to.

Lucy's head bobs. "And more than that," she tells him, casting a look around the forest surrounding them. The whispering trees have died down, the Fae forest growing all too silent around them. Natsu hopes that's a good thing. He hasn't heard them whisper since the collar was ripped from his throat. Lucy mentioned that they warned her about him, and he can only pray to the Old Gods that they might do so again, at least for her sake. Lucy continues suddenly. "When I was young, my mother told me that Fae can grant one gift to a human."

She says nothing else and Natsu frowns. Despite knowing little of the Fae, he's never heard anything like that before. People make up wild stories about her kind, both benevolent and malicious, but aside from blessed objects he's never heard of them giving gifts. At least, none that are good.

People used to say that the Fae would sneak into people's homes, take their souls, their children. The Fae would steal them away, exchange them for something that wasn't human, exchanging souls for tricks and games people could never win. It was all just some game.

He doesn't know what to believe anymore.

"What kind of gift?" he asks, wetting his lips and avoiding looking at her directly. There's something unnerving about her eyes whenever he asks questions, as if she's peeling back the layers of his skin to see what lies beneath, testing him. He doesn't know what she's looking for, but he doesn't like it.

She shrugs as she keeps pace with him, her eyes on the side of his face, gaze burning him. He ignores it. It was easier to ask questions in the dark, when her eyes were half clouded with the darkness.

The wound on his chest throbs angrily with every step, but doesn't bleed, to which he's grateful. Lucy walks alongside him, still not saying anything as they continue to walk through the woods, not a sound for miles aside from their breathing and the grass shifting beneath their feet. Her long hair tickles at his bicep as a breeze ghosts by them.

"I don't know," she finally tells him. "I never got the chance to ask."

Natsu freezes as her magic picks up around them, the air beginning to swirl almost violently. There's a dark tinge to the words, a sadness in her voice that he can understand all too well. He reaches out slowly, fingers reaching out towards hers.

She jerks away before he can touch her and he tries not to let disappointment swell inside him.

"I just know that it's different from blessed objects," she continues after a moment, watching in silence as Natsu twists around a tree in their path, deftly stepping over broken branches littering the ground. She follows a half step behind, not making a sound as she moves, as if her feet aren't even touching the ground.

Natsu wonders if that's something all Fae can do. They hail from the wilder woods of Enca. The rumors say they're one with the forest, with the trees, born from them. He believes it, too. She didn't manage to outrun him for nearly two days without the help of the forest. It wouldn't be possible.

"How are objects blessed, anyway?" he mumbles back, hand rubbing at his throat as he asks her, almost absentmindedly. He can still feel the phantom weight of the collar around his neck, the dark magic poisoning his veins as well as his mind. The King claims to detest magic, but it's the only way he can control them, the only way he can turn them into puppets.

He doesn't understand how it's possible, how the collars work. He's never known a blessing to work in ways like that.

Lucy blinks up at him slowly. "You're curious about the collars," she states simply, no hint of a question in her words.

Natsu snorts, untangling himself from her. "Aren't you?" he asks, cocking a brow at her.

Lucy hesitates a moment, gaze frosting over as she looks away from him, staring at nothing and everything that isn't him. "Fae can pour just a little of their magic into things they touch," she tells him, shrugging as if it's simple. To her it very well may be, but Natsu can hardly wrap his head around it. "Just enough to give them power. I'm not entirely sure how it's done. I was never taught how," she explains.

Natsu nods slowly, following along easily enough. "And the collars? That seems like more than a little magic," he mumbles bitterly, a growl rumbling in his throat as he glances at the bag slung across Lucy's back. even now, he can feel the dark twinges of magic reaching out for him, an icy hand curling around his heart and squeezing.

"It is." Lucy wets her lips, catching her lower lip between her teeth and biting down gently. "Those collars seem to hold a large quantity of energy," she continues softly, curling her arms around herself as if she too feels the dark magic pulsing behind her.

Lucy continues a moment later, her arms going slack at her sides. "Much more than a small vessel should, anyway." She glances back at him, pausing for a moment until he's beside her. "The Centari line has been stealing magic for years," she tells him, exchanging a glance with him and continuing before he can ask. "It can be siphoned from their hosts, drained, so to speak."

"How is that possible?" he growls, anger blooming in his chest. He swallows it down, taking a deep breath as he wills the beast in his chest to stay dormant, lest he scare her by going into a rage.

She hesitates, glancing up at him once more. "My grandfather told me an old legend." She kicks a rock out of her path, fingers drifting down to play with the hilt of one of her knives. "There was a blade called Moorgra," she tells him, "a sword from the northlands made of diamond and ice. Supposedly it can cleave magic from a living host." She lets out a shaky little breath and Natsu's lips press into a thin line.

"At what cost?"

The look Lucy gives him sends an unpleasant feeling swirling though his chest.

"Their life."

* * *

 **AN: All right, wow, this ended up longer than expected! I would offer another double update next week if this can hit 50 reviews, but Wednesdays seem like a bad day for posting things, and yeah. However! If this can hit 50 reviews, I'll send every reviewer a preview of the next chapter ;)**

 **Also, thanks so much for over 300 follows! You're all amazing!**

 **Glossary of World-building terms:**

 **Djehl: Fire God from the northlands that granted the Berserks their strength/inner fire.**

 **Djerda: Goddess of night and the mother of Djehl.**

 **There were only a few questions asked last chapter. One was the number of chapters for this fic, which will likely be over 50, though I have no certain number in mind. The other was my inspiration for writing this, which I honestly can't remember other than wanting to write about Berserkers because I enjoy Norse mythology.**

 **Have a lovely day and don't forget to review ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **Edited 3/16/18 Changes made throughout.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Nine**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

The coil of bandages around Lucy's shoulder have begun to bleed black.

She releases a shaky breath, casting a glance around the forest to make sure Natsu is truly gone from the area. Scouting, he told her before disappearing through the trees. He wanted to make sure they weren't being followed too closely. The wind was blowing towards them all morning, drawing their scent straight back the way they came from. It was concerning to the Berserker, Lucy could tell by the stiffness in his shoulders and the way he was breathing heavier than normal, constantly scenting the air. Lucy wasn't surprised when he left with nothing more than a hand on her back and mumbled promise to be back soon. In fact, she was anticipating it.

Sure the Berserker is far out of sight, Lucy hesitantly reaches for her left arm. Pale fingers ghost across the bandage where her skin would typically be exposed. Pain ripples from her shoulder down to her elbow, and Lucy bites the inside of her cheek, holding back a hiss of discomfort. Brushing aside the sting, Lucy unwraps the cloth with practiced ease, gaze locked on the blackened spot.

The bandage slips from her fingers moments after they've been unwound.

Bile rises high in Lucy's throat as she stares at the mark on her arm, but she swallows it down, unable to turn away from the sickening wound. It's worse than when she last saw it. The puncture wounds—four of them—have puckered, violet bruises blooming around them, though the swelling has lessened considerably. The bruising, however, isn't what concerns her. No, what makes her stomach twist is the black spider veins curling down towards her elbow and up towards her collarbone, a poison slithering through her veins. The puncture marks have begun to bleed the same inky color, the red blood replaced with something far darker.

An infection, she thinks, but one unlike anything she's ever seen. Her hand trembles as she traces a blackened vein with a finger, nearly recoiling at how hot the skin feels. The wound burns something awful, a fever creeping beneath her skin, and Lucy shudders as the black veins pulse in time with her heart. Her arm throbs rhythmically, and as Lucy watches she could swear she sees the veins extend further down her arm, creeping so slowly she almost doesn't notice.

Finally tearing her gaze from the weeping mess on her shoulder, Lucy slides down to the base of a tree, barely feeling the prickle of bark dragging across her skin. Mechanically, she pulls a cloth and canteen from her bag, the water sloshing violently as her hands tremble. The procedure comes naturally, only half her mind focused on the task at hand, a product of repeating the same movements twice daily for nearly two weeks.

Lucy doesn't watch as she wets the cloth and presses it to her shoulder, not wanting to see the white strip of fabric come away with a stain like spilled ink. Her arm gives a sore ache, but she ignores it, wiping the blood clean from her shoulder before dropping the cloth to the ground at her side. Lucy hums to herself as she reaches into her bag once more, fingers searching for the jar of salve she had never wanted to need on this trip. The glass is cold against her fingers, but the chill soothes her—helps her to ignore the pulsing of her arm and the itch beneath her skin.

This time, Lucy does peer down at her shoulder, watching in silence as the pale green salve is spread across the marks on her arm. For a moment, her skin flames, the burning beneath her flesh digging straight to the bone before a coldness washes over her. The fever ebbs away, leaving a chill that numbs her arm until her fingers tingle.

She shoves the jar back in her bag, wiping the residue across the grass until her fingers come away clean. A clean bandage is the next thing she reaches for, her lips twisting into a frown when she realizes how little she has left. The pair of them are still within Pergrande's grasp, they haven't faced the worst of things yet, and she's already nearly run out of supplies.

A bitter laugh bubbles in her throat, but Lucy swallows it down, shaking her head slowly. She'll just have to make a stop in the nearest town—just for supplies. She made it to Pergrande in one piece, she'll be damned if she can't make it home the same way. Besides, she has a Berserker on her side. The way she sees it, her odds of surviving have doubled at the very least.

Lucy ties the bandage tighter than she means to, drawing a soft hiss from her throat. She doesn't loosen it, however, not even as her arm throbs as the bandage constricts around her. It's almost too much pressure, but the black blood doesn't immediately seep through the cloth, so Lucy leaves it be. Shaking her head slowly, Lucy reaches for her discarded glove, her fingers rubbing over the soft cotton absentmindedly.

Pulling the fabric over her fingers, Lucy continues to hum a song her mother used to sing. She doesn't remember the words, they've been long forgotten to her, and she doubts that Laxus would remember something so silly. No, the words have been lost to time, but Lucy still remembers the story behind it and the way it made her feel. The tune is light, she recalls, brushing a finger against the fresh bandage on her shoulder, soft and sung on a tongue dripping with honey. She remembers the way the words all looped together as her mother sang, a trill to her voice.

The story was much, much different, however. There was a darkness to the words, something melancholy that swept through the room like a plague. It was a shanty from the coast, a tale of drowned lovers and broken hearts. Lucy remembers thinking it was odd how the words didn't match with the lighthearted melody, but her mother said that was the point. She didn't understand what her mother meant then, she still doesn't.

Lucy thinks it's a bit like poison in cherry wine. No matter how sweet, it doesn't mask the taste of death lurking just beneath. It's jarring, if nothing else. Though, perhaps that's the point.

She just wishes she could remember the lyrics, as if that could somehow explain the sick feeling that twists through her stomach whenever she thinks about the song. There was something about them that made her feel small and weak—as if her heart had been torn straight from her chest. She wishes she could remember why.

 _Snap._

Her hand flies to her knife as she twists towards the sound, silently cursing herself for not paying more attention. The last thing she needs is to be caught unaware a second time. The first nearly cost Lucy her life, she can't afford to risk it once more. She may not be quite so fortunate should it happen again.

Lucy is just about to shove herself to her feet when Natsu steps out from around a cluster of trees, silent as a ghost. She relaxes immediately, swallowing a laugh as she realizes just how comfortable she's become around a man she's only known for under a fortnight. A man who tried to kill her, at that.

It's illogical, she knows, to trust someone so easily, but she figures he's earned it, if only a little. Makarov taught her not to trust easily or blindly, but to follow her instincts. Fae have always had a way of knowing the pure of heart from the wicked, and that's something she's always believed in. It's saved her more times than she'd care to admit.

If Natsu truly wanted to kill her or drag her back to Pergrande, he very well could have done so, but he hasn't. Lucy believes whole heartedly that he won't, not after two weeks of wandering through the forests and skirting around towns, keeping out of sight. If he wanted to bring her back to Ðüskell, he wouldn't have brought her so close to the border with the ice country. It would only be a waste of time on his part.

Maybe that's blind trust, but she can feel it down in her bones, a thrum telling her she doesn't need to be afraid. She wishes her mother was still alive, or that Makarov was here with her, then she would know if the feeling has something to do with the Fae blood coursing through her veins, or if it's the fever eating away at her mind. He was always better at healing matters than her.

She watches in silence as he glides between the trees, not a sound coming from his steps. Lucy knows he _meant_ for her to hear him coming. If he didn't want her to know he was there, she wouldn't have the faintest idea he was there. The thought unnerves her. For a creature with so much rawer power and strength, the Berserkers are quiet, wraiths among the shadows. She never would have guessed so by looking at Natsu, but slowly it's beginning to make sense to her.

The Berserkers are trackers, hunters, in their own way. They need to keep silent, lest they give themselves away. Lucy can understand that. Gods know what would have happened to her had she been caught in the capital.

A shiver wracks her body, and Lucy curls her arms tightly around herself, her lips pressing into a thin line as she banishes the thought to the back of her mind. She knows exactly what would have happened, and she would rather be dead than face what the King would put her through.

Another snapping sound comes from before her, and Lucy looks up to find Natsu staring back at her, a crease between his brows and a frown pulling at his lips. Lucy tries for a small smile, but it must look wrong, because his lips twist down even further. His gaze slips from her face to the black-stained cloth beside her, and Lucy snatches it up without a second thought, shoving the fabric into her bag to be forgotten.

Lucy wets her lips, wondering if she should tell him about the wound on her arm. Logically, she knows that she should. He's likely to have a better idea of what's happening than she ever could. If this is some kind of toxin created by Berserkers, or if they have a kind of venom, then he's likely to know about it, how to treat it.

She considers asking him, but her throat swells before the words can rise in her throat and the thought vanishes like smoke.

Natsu is still staring when she looks up once more.

Lucy clears her throat awkwardly, wrapping her arms around herself and curling closer to the tree trunk behind her. The tree murmurs as she presses closer, whispering something Lucy doesn't catch. The tree hums then, echoing the song Lucy was singing earlier. She covers the bandage on her arm with her hand, hoping to hide it from his eyes, afraid that if he stares too long he'll know exactly what she's been hiding.

"See anything?" she manages to ask after several seconds too long, the words sticking in her throat.

He doesn't speak for another long moment, his eyes tracing her face with slow precision, searching for something. "No," he tells her, coming to stand before her. His gaze leaves her only briefly, his eyes trailing up to the tree as it continues to trill softly. He presses a hand to the bark and Lucy swears she feels the tree tremble at his touch. "We're clear for now," Natsu continues, slowly pulling back from the tree.

She doesn't like the sound of it, his words holding little reassurance, though she supposes it's better than nothing. Lucy doesn't like the waiting game they've been playing. Something should have happened by now. They should have been caught.

Lucy tilts her head back, gazing up at the underside of his jaw. "How close are we to the capital?" she wonders aloud, raising her free hand to the silvers tree trunk behind her. The fairy tree thrums against her touch, pulsing with energy, and Lucy can't help but smile. Her mother once told her to trust the forest with her life, promising it would always protect her.

She had never thought that promise to be true until recently.

Natsu cocks his head to one side, his chin tilting down as he looks at her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before he glances around the forest. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he swallows, his muscles tensing. "Too close," he decides after a long moment. He peers down at her, gaze apologetic. "We've been making good time but…" he trails off, shrugging slightly as he continues to shift in place.

Sighing heavily, Lucy curls closer to the tree at her back, avoiding Natsu's gaze. "But it's not enough," she finished for him, a bitterness on her tongue. It's her fault, she knows, though there's not much she can do about it at the moment.

Perhaps, she should have taken Porlyusica's offer for medical training. It would have helped her greatly in hindsight, even if it had meant spending more time with the surly friend of her grandfather. Lucy has found it's best to avoid the woman unless something is serious. A skinned knee is much is nicer than having her head _bitten_ off.

Dragon Lady. That's what Laxus called her when they were children, on account of the fire he would swear that she could breathe, though Lucy never saw it. He had whispered it to her like a secret, and Lucy supposes it must have been.

Natsu crouches so that he can meet her gaze, his expression uncharacteristically soft. He sends her a smile that's little more than a pull of lips on one side, but it raises her spirits just the slightest. "So long as we're in Pergrande, we're far too close to Đüskell," he tells her gently, placing a firm hand against the elbow of her bad arm, hesitating only briefly.

Lucy sucks in a sharp breath as her shoulder gives a dull ache, and Natsu stills, eyes snapping to the bandages coiled around her upper arm. They narrow suddenly, and Lucy can hear a low snarl bubbling somewhere deep in his chest. His lips curve back over his teeth, his palm sliding up her arm slowly until his fingers hover over the mark on her arm.

He can smell the decay, she realizes a moment later, gently pulling her arm from his grasp. Natsu pulls away immediately, the snarl leaving his lips as he reels back to gauge her reaction. Lucy shakes her head slowly, forcing a small smile. Confusion glints in his green eyes, and Lucy watches them flicker between her face and shoulder. She reaches out slowly, catching his fingers with hers and holding them loosely, absentmindedly.

"Are there any towns coming up? A city we can stop in? We need supplies," she tells slowly, squeezing his fingers briefly as she changes the subject. It's obvious, she knows, but now's not the time for them to be worrying about her arm. They have bigger problems to worry about right now, like whatever must be tailing them for Natsu to be so on edge. Besides, stopping anywhere in Pergrande to get the mark checked would be a foolish idea.

Natsu hums in thought, seemingly taking her baited question without a fight, and Lucy realizes she's let magic bleed into the words, willing him to change the conversation. She can't be bothered to feel guilty about it.

He runs a scarred finger across her knuckles, eyes on the back of her hand. "Jorah," he decides after a long moment, "I think." Green eyes lock with hers and he releases her hand, something heavy and dark in his eyes. "It separates the mountains from the rest of Pergrande." He starts to stand and Lucy reaches out blindly, catching him by the hand once more. For a moment, his eyes narrow as he glances down at her, but then he hauls her up with him easily, pressing a hand to her spine to keep her steady at the sudden shift in balance.

Lucy flashes him a brief smile as she mulls over the name. Jorah sounds familiar to her, if only from hearing it in passing. The name brings the image of high stone walls and a fairy tree in the center of a town, the branches stretching farther than any she's ever seen.

"I passed through there on my way into Pergrande," she tells Natsu, stooping to grab her bag. "I remember the tree in the center. Thought it was an odd city." She wrinkles her nose. "It was crawling with soldiers, but they all looked young—fresh faces that have never seen combat." It was a strange sight. She would have thought the mountain pass would be far better guarded. Though, perhaps things have since changed.

Natsu nods in response. "We shouldn't stop there," he replies firmly, his lips curving back into a snarl. His gaze is far away, vision cloudy, and for a moment Lucy is unnerved by the absence of anything in his eyes. For the briefest moment he looks just as emotionless as when she first saw him. Her fingers graze his arm and his eyes snap back to her, familiar and swirling with emotion.

He doesn't always carry his emotions so obviously across his face, but Lucy is finding that she prefers it when he does.

Lucy clears her throat. "Why's that?" she asks, curious about why they shouldn't stop in the town. They still need supplies, and Jorah is the last _real_ stop before they make it into the mountains. No one in Pergrande is foolish enough to make a home in the Jernnas. The Iron Mountains are not one to be trifled with.

"They never forget a face," he tells her, a hiss to his words. Lucy's eyes narrow but he continues quickly. "They'll remember you," he murmurs, casting her a long look up and down. "How you were a foreigner and how quickly you passed through, but especially how you were alone." There's a growl to his words, but he doesn't elaborate, much to her frustration.

Lucy shoulders her bag, shifting in place. "And that's bad?" she stresses, wanting a better answer. She knows that most women in Pergrande don't travel alone. Most women anywhere in Ishgar don't travel alone. It's common sense not to. There's something about Natsu's tone that makes her think it's not just that concerning him.

His throat bobs when he swallows. "Very," he replies shortly. The single word rests heavy between them. Even the trees fall silent at the sharpness of his tone, but Lucy isn't perturbed.

She catches his hand before he can walk away. "What do you mean?" He avoids her gaze, taking a step away from her, however, he doesn't pull away entirely, letting her keep her hold on his wrist. His pulse jumps beneath her fingers, nervous and perhaps frustrated.

He sighs, not looking at her as his shoulders droop in something reminiscent of defeat. He's giving it, but Lucy finds no pleasure in gaining an answer. It's not something she wants to hear, rather, she needs to hear it. If only to keep herself out of trouble when they pass through—which they will have to do. There's no other way into the mountain pass, not an easy one, anyway.

Whatever could happen in Jorah surely can't be worse than what would face them in the Iron Mountains. She's heard the stories, and none of them are pretty.

"People don't just leave Pergrande, Lucy," Natsu tells her gently, twisting to face her directly. His gaze is apologetic, but there's something steely in his eyes. He sighs, entire body trembling, and Lucy begins to notice just how nervous he looks. His fists clench and unclench, his eyes constantly darting around them, always alert. A sickness curls though her stomach. "You come in, but you don't go back out," he finishes softly, words almost swallowed by the silence.

She wets her lips, staring at his throat. "The Berserkers," she murmurs, goose bumps prickling at her skin. She knows now just how readily the King sends his controlled beasts after people. Briefly, she wonders how many people ever make it as far as Jorah, but banishes the thought from her mind just as quickly as it comes, not wanting to know the odds. She lucky— _they're_ lucky. Simple as that.

"And the King's guard." Natsu's nod is as sharp as his words. Muscles tensing, he curls his hand around hers, tugging her a step forward, a silent warning that they've been still for far too long. "Leaving won't be easy," he murmurs as the head West once again, "not like getting in." He glances down at her, once again giving her fingers a comforting squeeze, those his words to little to settle that raw panic building in her chest. "Jorah is Pergrande's first and last defense. They keep a list of everyone that comes in and everyone that tries to leave."

 _Tries_. The word does nothing to calm her nerves. Cobra hadn't mentioned that to her in their letters. She'll have to ask him about that later, especially how he manages to come and go so freely most times. That is, if she ever sees him again. She'll have to write him when she returns home, or see if Makarov's contacts in Pergrande have heard any news. She'll even talk to Loke, if that's what it takes.

Natsu takes a half-step closer to her side, just near enough to let his arm press against hers, reminding her that he's still there and he's not going to let anything happen to her, so long as he can help it.

Lucy truly hopes it never comes to that. She meant what she told him that first day. She doesn't want his life. Not even to save her own. He deserves to keep his life, to let it be his for the first time in years. If he really feels the need to get her to Fiore, she won't stop him, but she also won't let him throw his life away for her. Lucy absolutely refuses to let that happen.

Lucy thinks back to what he said. How no one can come in or out of Jorah without being noticed and reported. The townsfolk are likely to know exactly what Natsu is, and she doubts most foreigners are seen cavorting with one of Pergrande's greatest soldiers. And if that isn't warning enough for them, there's also the matter of the pair of them being followed.

"What do _we_ do?" she asks him softly, keeping her gaze on the trees as they stumble through the woods. Her fingers itch to reach for a knife, but she resists, instead leaning into him just the slightest, a weight leaving her shoulders when he presses back into her.

The black veins on her arm pulse irritably at the contact, but Lucy can't bring herself to care, relishing the touch regardless of the stinging in her shoulder.

Natsu only sighs, casting a long look around them, his muscles tense as he presses against her. "Pray there's a better option." There's a teasing lilt to the words, but when Lucy glances up, his gaze is hard, his lips pressed into a thin, humorless line.

She wonders if there are any better options. From what she can tell, there are only two: a town of soldiers and spies, or whatever beasts lie in the high mountains, waiting to prey on whoever is foolish enough to venture too close.

They walk in silence for a long while, until the morning sun reaches the highest point in the sky, barely visible through the red leaves of the fairy trees. Lucy casts a wild glance around the pair of them, gaze roaming the snow white bark of the Ellyra. A smear of red sap catches her eye.

Azgetta, the Northlanders call them. _Weeping trees_.

According to her mother, Ellyra with large knots in the bark are magical. Tap once for good fortune. Tap twice to bring great horrors upon an enemy. Lucy has never thought the myth to be true, however, she wonders if the legend would be worth testing, if only one time.

As if hearing her thoughts, the Ellyra begin to hum, little whispers reaching her ears. Mumbled threats against the King, dark little things that spread through the trees like a poison, the voices growing so loud that they make her ears ring. Natsu, however, appears not to notice, and she begins to wonder if it's all in her head.

She's heard stories of Ellyra losing themselves to their dark thoughts, the bark growing dark violet and black, reminiscent of a bruise staining the tree. Once the bruise spreads, the trees wither and die, so consumed by their misery that they begin to poison themselves.

Lucy wonders if people do the same.

The trees quiet suddenly, their vile words drifting into silence.

Grateful for the silence, Lucy glances up at Natsu, noticing the tension in his jaw and how stiff his shoulders have become as the sun has risen higher. "You think we're being followed," she murmurs, shattering the silence around them. It's not a question. She knows that something's coming. It's only a matter of time.

The Ellyra bristle at her thoughts, but remain silent.

He gives her a brief glances, eyes locking with hers for only a moment before they snap back to the trees. His gate becomes longer, legs moving faster, and Lucy finds herself struggling to keep up. An arm loops around her waist, keeping her balanced as she nearly trips on a wayward root. "I know we are," he growls back, a snarl rumbling somewhere deep in his chest, almost a warning.

Lucy doesn't think it's for her.

Her lips press into a thin line and she urges herself to move faster. Her ankle throbs, but the pain is dull, not nearly as bad as it had been days earlier. "How close?" she hisses back to him. The spider veins burn against her arm, and Lucy doesn't need to look to know that they've grown larger.

Natsu considers the question, his lips pursing in thought. He doesn't look at her as he speaks, only continues to cast sharp, panicked looks around them, waiting for something to come for them. "I don't want to find out."

She doesn't like the answer.

Her teeth snap together sharply, her lips twisting down, unimpressed. "Natsu—"

He cuts her off before she can snap at him. "Right behind us," he growls voice thick with anger and something else that she can't place. "Maybe half a day's walk." He urges her to move faster, his grip growing tight on her hip, so much so that Lucy thinks he may leave light bruises. "Probably less."

Around them, the trees take up a hiss, speaking in an old tongue that Lucy knows little of. She can make out the word _run_ , however, and the word sends a shiver down her spine. Natsu must hear it too, because he growls lowly, silencing the trees.

Lucy forces herself to move faster. "We're not moving fast enough," she murmurs back. He glances down at her, but says nothing. He doesn't need to. She can see his agreement in his eyes. They need to run. Her leg protests at the thought, but she ignores it. "Will we be safe in Jorah?" she asks him sharply, staring up at the curve of his jaw, watching as the muscle ticks.

Natsu laughs, the bitter sound vibrating against her side. "Safe?" he repeats, half-mockingly. "No. Hidden? Maybe." His fingers drug against her waist suddenly as he considers their options. "In Jorah it will be easier to lose them, but we will find no friends in the city."

Lucy thinks that's fine. They don't need to make friends, they need to live. "It's better than nothing," she tells him.

He snorts, shaking his head slowly. Natsu doesn't look at her. "You say that now, but…" He trails off, shaking his head in frustration.

"We don't have a choice," she reminds him, covering the hand on her hip with her own, daring to thread her fingers through his. His hand goes still at her touch, but he doesn't pull back, merely lets her squeeze his fingers all too gently.

Natsu sighs, giving her a sad, hollow look. Guilt swirls in his eyes, leaving a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "There's always a choice, Lucy," he breathes back, so low she almost doesn't hear him. He holds her gaze for a long moment. "Sometimes there are just no good options."

She wants to ask what their other options are, but chooses not to. "How far are we from Jorah?"

* * *

 **AN: All right, wow, this ended up longer than expected! Sorry for any mistakes! I'm in a bit of a rush to finish this! If this can hit 50 reviews, I'll send every reviewer a preview of the next chapter!**

 **Glossary of World-building terms (all of these have been created by me, unless otherwise stated. Though, some do have roots in real languages/mythology):**

 **Djehl: Fire God from the northlands that granted the Berserks their strength/inner fire.**

 **Djerda: Goddess of the night and the mother of Djehl.**

 **Ðüskell [Ju-skell]: Capital of Pergrande. The standard currency of Pergrande is "crowns."**

 **Jorah [jor-ah]: A town separating the Iron Mountains in the West from the rest of Pergrande.**

 **Jernnas [Jeh-ern-az]: Iron Mountains. [Base comes from "Jern" the Norwegian word for iron.]**

 **Ellyra [El-eye-rah]: Formal name of the fairy trees. Rumored to house the souls of slain Fae within their trunks. The trees are semi-sentient, and can speak, though only to those who they want to hear. The trees are tall, with pale colored bark (white, to a light grey as the trees grow old) and red leaves. The trees bleed red sap, and in the Northlands they are commonly called Azgetta meaning "the bleeding" or alternatively "the weeping."**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **Edited 3/17/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Ten**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Five miles. That's how far away from Jorah they are. Lucy can finally see the forest disappear into the Jernnas, they're so close. The mountain range is finally within sight, the only familiar landmark Lucy has seen in weeks. Everything in Pergrande is so unfamiliar to her. She's been a stranger here, wandering and unwelcome.

If she squints, she thinks she can see Ilthrymon, the Red Peak of the mountains. The highest point in all of Pergrande and the site of the last battle of Mannon between Pergrande and the icelands. She hadn't noticed it on her way through, too engrossed in the viper eggs and her deal with Loke, but even so far away it's quite the sight to behold.

Her grandfather has told her stories of Ilthrymon, how it snowed for three days and nights before the last battle—a whiteout blizzard that nearly froze his fingers and would have buried his legion if not for the Herne that saved them. It's where her grandfather, Makarov, was born. Anna may have run to Fiore during the Civil War, but that was a hundred years ago. Her family has traveled many places sine then, always running. It was only after the battle of Mannon that Makarov left for Fiore, tired of the war.

Mithriel was his home for many years though, the land of snow referred to as Iceberg by most nations, a means of belittling the country. According to Makarov, the entire Jernnas mountain range belongs to Mithriel, though Pergrande claims the territory for itself, the resources of the Iron Mountains precious. The border between the nations is widely debated, blurred for nearly one hundred miles. Mithriel claims everything west of the river Awen, but Pergrande has been carving deeper into the mountains with every passing year.

And now they're only five miles from where that border dispute begins.

A smile pulls at Lucy's lips at the thought, but she steels her expression, her stomach twisting almost painfully as her arm throbs. Close, but not there yet—not _safe_ yet. A lot can happen in only five miles. Trouble could easily find them on their way. Her teeth close around her lower lip, worrying the flesh as dark thoughts plague her. Close, but not close enough.

Something knocks against her shoulder briefly, so light she almost doesn't notice. "So who are you going back to?" Her head snaps up at the question, and she meets Natsu's eyes only briefly before he turns away from her, stooping beside a creek to fill the canteens she brought with her.

For a moment, she merely watches him fiddle with her bag, her lips twitching as he frowns at the sack, curious as to how it can hold so much, yet still be so small and relatively light. Lucy hadn't told him, but the bag was blessed by her mother long ago, magicked to store many more things than a normal bag could hold, but only revealing things that one is looking for. She thinks Natsu may have guessed that part, judging by how nothing she pulls out can faze him anymore. However, Lucy won't tell him the bag's other secrets, enjoying the surprised expressions he makes whenever the bag reveals something new—how his lips curl down and his nose wrinkles in something between awe and confusion.

She likes those looks, they remind her that the things she was told about the Berserkers are more story than anything. She may not trust him entirely yet, but she's grown used to his presence, her strength reassuring.

She tries not to think about the blood debt when she looks at him.

His question comes back to her suddenly, startling her for a second time. She knows exactly who she's going back to, and she can't wait to see their faces again after so long.

Natsu glances back at her as he fills the canteens, his head cocking to the side as he watches her become swallowed in her thoughts. She pulls herself out of them, smiling slightly.

She doesn't hesitate when she answers him. "My brothers and my grandfather," Lucy tells him quietly, directing her gaze back to the ankle she's been trying to wrap correctly for nearly five minutes now. Her fingers just won't cooperate, and she isn't sure if it's nerves or excitement at being so close to the border, Natsu's concerns still ringing in her ears from two days earlier.

It won't be easy for them to leave.

"You have brothers?" Natsu hums in thought, capping the metal containers and sliding them back into the bag. His gaze drifts down to her leg, his lips twisting up in amusement at the disastrous wrapping job she's done. She's almost offended—almost—but then he reaches out and bats her hands away, replacing them with his own. A calloused thumb brushes against her skin, and Lucy watches as he rights the brace, hands gentle as he wraps her ankle with the same red fabric as he used the first time.

Lucy thinks about her siblings, smiling at Natsu when he peeks up at her. "Two," she tells him. She snorts suddenly, shaking her head slightly. "Well, they aren't technically my brothers, but they might as well be." Something bitter creeps across her tongue, but she swallows it back. They're her brothers in all senses but by genetics, but she never has cared much about that. They're her brothers, and that's all that really matters.

For a moment, Natsu's hands still, but then he goes back to his task, not looking up at her. "What are their names?" Lucy hisses as the wrap is pulled tightly around her ankle, cringing at the feeling, but tries to muffle the sound before he can hear. She'll never be used to the tightness that's necessary, but that isn't his fault. She should have known better than to hide the sound, Natsu's hearing is better than most. He murmurs a quiet apology, pulling away from her immediately, but not going far.

"There's Laxus," Lucy starts, gaining his attention once again, "he's technically my cousin on my mother's side." Laxus' father abandoned him years ago, but Lucy doesn't tell Natsu this, not wanting to share her cousin's secrets. She wasn't sad to see Ivan leave. not after everything he put Laxus through, though she wishes Laxus hadn't been alone for so long afterwards.

Natsu gazes down at her, his lips pressing into a thin line as he takes in her words. "Faeborne?" It's barely above a whisper, and Natsu glances around the little area they've settled in for the moment, mindful of what could be listening.

Stopping for a moment was a risky gamble, but they needed water, and though Natsu hadn't protested after their last discussion, Lucy knows he's still uncomfortable about passing through Jorah. The city unnerves him, that much is clear. But their options are few, and Jorah seems better than the mountains, at least in theory.

She sighs, folding her knees to her chest and staring passed him at the creek. "Yeah." A smile pulls at the corner of her lips and Natsu gaze weighs heavy against her, though not unpleasantly so. "A lightning user." A laughs bubbles in her throat, and she bites her lip as she meets his eyes, watching his own gaze flicker in amusement. "Mostly he just shocks people though." It was an unfortunate few months for the lot of them when Laxus first discovered his magic, Laxus having decided to make a game out of shocking them.

Poor Makarov had his mustache fried clean off during an exceptionally powerful jolt of energy from Laxus, and her cousin ended up spending a week cleaning out the old wine cellar beneath Makarov's home, forced to wade through dust and grim to clean out the old room.

When Lucy came into her powers, she made sure to repay the gesture.

He'd been getting stronger with his magic before she left, a lot stronger. A shiver wracks her when she thinks about it, a phantom sensation trailing along her back. He needed training, the power too much for him to control, too dangerous.

A snort of laughter comes from Natsu, and when Lucy meets his eyes she sees amusement, though he tries to swallow it. "And the other one?"

Her smile slips only the slightest bit at the mention of her younger brother, if only because of the unfortunate circumstances leading to his arrival in her life. "Romeo." Lucy wets her lips, staring down at her lap in silence for a long moment. "His father, Macao, was a friend of my grandfather's. He died about thirteen years ago." A Berserker attack, actually, but she doesn't tell him this either. She can only hope that Romeo doesn't react badly to Natsu's appearance.

Natsu merely nods in understanding, something in his gaze making Lucy think he understands the situation far more than she could ever know. "And what are they like?" he asks her a moment later, humming to himself lightly as he continues casting glances around them.

Lucy knows that their time here is short—knows that he's grown restless and that they have so little time. She nudges him with her leg, gesturing for him to stand as she slips her boot back over her ankle. He does, pulling her up with him as soon as she's finished.

"Laxus is prickly." She scoops up her bag, looping it across her shoulders before reaching for her bow. "About as friendly as an Eastern Demigor," she jokes, gaining a chuckle from Natsu at the comparison. Demigors are a bit like porcupines, though they're roughly the size of a large bear and about twice as likely to kill you. "Romeo is sweet, he always wants to help out. He sees the best in people."

They walk in silence for several moments, and Lucy's shoulder gives a sore ache, reminding Lucy that she needs to tell him. She thought she could wait until they made it to Jorah, but the dark veins have begun to spread further and further, and she'd rather tell him when they're alone out here, rather than trying to find a quite place in the city.

Beside her, Natsu slows, and Lucy sucks in a sharp breath as she turns to face him, the words already spilling from her mouth before she can stop them. "Natsu—"

He cuts her off sharply, going rigid beside her. "Lucy, run," he snarls suddenly, turning back the way they came. His lips curve back over his teeth, a low rumble spilling from somewhere deep in his chest. For a moment, she's startled by the demanding tone, not used to the harshness coming from him.

For a moment, she can't find her voice. "What?" she asks after several seconds too long, the question sounding strangled as it leaves her. All of a sudden, her mind goes utterly blank. The command baffles her for several seconds until it suddenly clicks in her mind that their time has been slowly winding down all too quickly.

Natsu spares her a glance, shifting from one foot to the other as he stares through the trees, listening intently to something she can't hear. "Run," he tells her again, quieter this time, but no less firm. The growl in his throat echoes through her, rattling straight to her bones.

Lucy blinks up at him in shock, lips parted just the slightest. "Something's coming," she breathes, eyes going wide at the realization. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up, goose bumps prickling at her skin. It's not a question, not really. She can tell by the desperate look in his eyes that they've finally run out of time.

Natsu shakes his head, and the look he sends her makes Lucy's throat constrict, a ghostly palm winding around her neck. He reaches out, fingers grazing against her shoulder only briefly, as if too soothe her panic. His throat bobs as he swallows down the words sticking in his throat. When he finally speaks, it's only to correct her. "Something's _here_."

She sucks in a shaky breath, her hands clenching into fists when he growls again, taking a half-step forward to place himself between her and whatever has finally found the. "What is it?" she murmurs, half to herself. The question has been rattling in her head all day. Lucy has her guesses, but doesn't want any of them to be right.

"One of my brothers," he responds, so low she can barely hear. There's no warmth in his tone, no sadness at the word "brother," only contempt. He snarls again. "You need to go." He glances back at her, his jaw locked and his gaze hard, and Lucy notices that his hands are trembling, as if he's struggling to contain himself.

Lucy thinks that he may very well be.

Her own hands clench at her sides, bumping against her knives as she stares up at him. "I can fight," she reminds him, though it's unnecessary. She doubts he could ever forget their first meeting, Lucy knows that she never will. Besides, she won't just run and leave him behind. She absolutely refuses to abandon him like that.

He glances back at her, gaze softening just the slightest as he meets her gaze. There's something like pride swimming in his eyes, but also something that speaks of sheer terror. "I know you can," he murmurs back, though his tone says his mind hasn't changed, "but you're hurt."

It's a poor excuse and they both know it.

Lucy's gaze travels to the wound on his chest, still large and covered with paste. She knows that it still bleeds sometimes, when he moves the wrong way. And even though he would never tell her, she also knows that it stings every time he breathes. She can see a slight flicker of pain in his eyes if she watches closely. "So are you," she breathes back, stepping around him to meet his eyes.

He holds her gaze for a long moment, searching her expression. Lucy thinks he must find what he's looking for, because suddenly he sighs, turning his head away from her. His teeth clench and for several seconds he says nothing, only stares passed the trees. "If it gets bad, please run," he murmurs, turning back to her, gaze sharp. Her nails dig into her palms as she nods. Natsu's shoulders relax, if only a little. He sucks in a shaky little breath, facing her fully. There's a heaviness in his eyes that she doesn't like. "If I go after you," he starts slowly, looking almost pained, "you _kill me_ , understand?"

She's already shaking her head before he's finished. "Natsu…" Her voice cracks and she takes a half-step backwards, stumbling. Lucy shakes her head once more, adamantly refusing, though the words have become stuck in her throat.

Warm fingers wrap around her upper arms, holding her steady. Natsu holds her gaze with his, an apology swimming in his eyes. He gives her arms a gentle squeeze, thumb sweeping back and forth along her arm. "Promise me." The desperation in his voice makes her pause, his grip the only think keeping her steady.

"I don't want your life," she reminds him, fingers coming up to wrap around his wrist, holding him loosely.

He smiles then, small and sad and she can see ghosts in his eyes. "And I don't want yours."

Lucy blanches, her hand slipping from him slowly. He gives her another squeeze, waiting for her to speak. "Natsu, I—" She cuts off once more, shaking her head. She couldn't kill him the first time. How could she possibly hurt him now?

Fingers ghost across her skin, his hands rising from her shoulders up to cup her face, his grip on her firm but gentle. Green eyes stare into hers, so many emotions swimming in his gaze that she can't make any of them out. "Promise," he whispers once more, a finger brushing across her cheek. She's about to refuse, but the terror and desperation in his gaze makes her pause. Releasing a shaky breath, Lucy nods, gaining a shaky half-smile from him. "Don't get between us. Okay?"

"Okay." It comes out choked and small, little more than a breath between them.

After another moment, he releases her, taking a large step back. His expression turns serious. "If it gets bad, get to Jorah. I'll try to meet you there." He pauses, not meeting her gaze. "If I can."

If he _can_. Lucy flinches at the wording, but nods, wanting to reply, but not having the faintest idea what to say to him. Around them, the trees begin to rattle, whispering amongst themselves, words growing louder and louder until they're practically shrieking in fright. A moment later she hears the desperate whispers of " _run, run, run!_ "

There's a snapping of branches, a snarl, shrieking from the trees, and then nothing. The forest falls silent—unnaturally quiet, just as it had several days back, when Natsu came after her. She wonders if the forest knows what's happening, if the trees have eyes and are constantly watching out for travelers, doing what they can to protect those walking through the woods. They've certainly been doing that for her.

Natsu growls suddenly, low and warning—threatening. Lucy's skin crawls as the sound reaches her, and she takes a step back without meaning to. She watches as his lips curve back over his teeth, sharp canines glinting in the light. The sound reverberates through her bones, fear coursing through her veins as her heart skips a beat. If Natsu notices her discomfort, he does nothing to stop it, his snarls only growing in volume until Lucy is sure they'll echo through her head for weeks.

A moment later, Natsu's warning is returned, though the sound is different somehow— _unnatural_. Again, Natsu places himself between her and the trees, shielding her from what's just beyond her sight. Coming to her senses, Lucy pulls her bow from her back, notching an arrow without a second thought.

Another branch snaps, and then a Berserker steps out from behind a tree, his expression twisting in rage as he catches sight of Natsu. A snarl comes from the Berserker, louder than before, but he doesn't move closer, doesn't attack.

Lucy takes a moment to study him, hoping to find anything that could help them in a fight. He's tall, taller than Natsu and twice as broad in the shoulders, built like a wall. Dark hair falls into his equally dark eyes, and when he sees her watching, he smiles. Lucy takes a step to the side, skirting around Natsu, and raises her arms, fingers twitching against her bow as she aims for his chest.

There's no collar around his throat.

The Berserker sees her weapon and laughs, throws his head back an cackles to the sky. Around them, the Ellyra hiss and spit, the words spoken in an old tongue that Lucy can't understand. The Berserker either doesn't hear, or doesn't care, ignoring the temperamental trees as he takes another step towards them.

Lucy glances back at his bare throat, fear churning in her gut as she realizes he's not being controlled. There's no stopping him unless he wants to be stopped, no easy ending or way to avoid blood. Looking at him, she doubts he would ever want to avoid blood. There's something manic about him, his smile too big and his eyes too bright, an excitement rolling off him in waves. She catches sight of the blue mark painted across his chest it's name is lost to her, but from Natsu's short explanation of the runes she knows it to mean destruction. _Chaos_.

That's what this man has chosen to value above all else.

He takes another step forward, and suddenly Lucy can see a silver scar across the side of his neck, a reflection of the one marring Natsu's skin. The King's brand.

Natsu snarls at him again, but he just smirk, cocking his head to one side as his gaze drifts between Natsu and Lucy curiously. "What do we have here, Brother?" the man drawls, gaze suddenly fixated on Lucy, still half-hidden behind Natsu's shoulder. "What treasure are you hiding?" His teeth flash in the sunlight and his tongue swipes across his lips as he stares at her.

He throws his head back in a laugh, though Lucy isn't sure what's amusing about the situation. While his eyes are closed, Lucy draws back her arm, aiming for his head before releasing.

There's no thump as she hits home. No snarl of pain. Only laughter as he catches the arrow in his palm, the tip only an inch from his skin. His gaze slides back to her, his pupils flickering into thin slits. "That's not very nice," he chides, snarling as he snaps the arrow in two, tossing it aside like nothing.

Her hand falls back to her side in shock, her bow slapping against her thigh almost painfully as the Berserker snarls at her. A hand is placed in front of her, Natsu's fingers splaying across her abdomen, as if the small action might shield her from the other man's sight. However, he says nothing, merely watches the other Berserker take another step, and then another, until he's no more than twenty feet away, close enough for Lucy to count the scars on his chest.

The other Berserker stops suddenly, amused, and rips his gaze away from Lucy, following the arm in front of her up to Natsu's face. His lips curve back in a sneer, his eyes bright, full of mirth and also rage, the emotions flickers too quickly for Lucy to follow. "I'm going to kill you, Brother," the Berserker tells Natsu, wetting his lips slowly. He casts another quick glance Lucy's way. "And the pretty girl."

Natsu growls low in his throat once again, regarding the other man coolly. His fingers press harder into her stomach, forcing Lucy to take a step back, away from the pair or Berserkers. Lucy glances up at Natsu, watching as his own eyes flicker and his teeth grind together in anger. He doesn't look at her once as he forces her a step back. "You can try," he challenges, releasing Lucy in order to take a step forward, prepared to meet the other Berserker halfway.

Heat crackles around them and the other Berserker rises to the challenge, snarling so loudly that it makes Lucy's ears ring. Natsu answers with his own growl, and then suddenly they both lunge forward.

Lucy notches a second arrow, watching in horror as the men collide, snarling and snapping at the other. Natsu gives the first blow, a fist cracking against the other man's jaw with so much force that Lucy hears something snap, breaking. Neither man reacts to the sound, both too focused on the other to care for what must be broken bones.

There's another crack as the other man's foot lashes out, catching Natsu across the chest and fracturing a rib at the very least. Natsu doubles over in pain, the wound on his chest splitting open as he wrenches himself sideways to avoid being kneed in the face.

She can do nothing but watch as Natsu takes a heavy blow to the face, one that sends his head snapping to the side, blood dripping from a split on his lip. He meets her gaze for the briefest of seconds, then whips back around, tackling the other man around the waist and forcing him to the ground, fingers wrapping around the man's neck, the other clenching into a tight fist. Natsu squeezes, and Lucy's own neck gives a sore ache, the bruises on her throat still visible, though growing faint.

Nails bite into the other Berserker's throat, pinpricks of blood coating Natsu's fingers and slipping down the man's neck as he thrashes beneath Natsu, snarling. A foot is wedged between them, and then Natsu is shoved back, nails raking across his opponent's flesh as he reels back. Natsu hits the ground hard on his back, but rolls with the momentum, landing deftly on his feet and sliding several feet backwards across the grass.

The other Berserker is on him a moment later, swinging wildly in an attempt to catch Natsu with a wayward blow. But where the other Berserker is bigger, broader, Natsu is faster, quicker on his feet. He catches the man's left fist in his own, compelling his fingers apart and open. Lucy can only watch as Natsu forces the man's fingers backwards, bending them so far that they snap, one by one.

The man doesn't even appear to feel his fingers breaking, using his other fist to catch Natsu above the eye, clawing at him.

For several minutes it's a complete bloodbath, bones are broken and Lucy can barely follow the movements with her eyes, her stomach twisting sickly every time she hears a bone snap or listens to one of the Berserkers snarl in rage.

She's knocked another arrow, but the Berserkers are simply too close together, a blur of flesh and gold as they whirl around each other, until Lucy almost can't tell where one ends and the other begins. She could take the shot, she knows. She could get lucky and hit her intended target. She could end this before it really begins.

But she won't—she can't. She can't risk hurting Natsu, can't risk killing him. If that happened, they'd both be dead, and what good would that do either of them?

Natsu blocks a blow to the side, swinging a fist towards the other man's nose. Another crack. Blood drips down the man's face, coating his lips and chin. Droplets splatter down his front smearing against the blue rune on his chest, distorting the symbol until it's unrecognizable.

A foot slams into the man's stomach and he doubles over, Natsu's knee coming up fast, driving straight back into the man's broken nose. There's a gush of blood and Natsu snarls, sending the other Berserker onto his back.

For the briefest moment, Lucy catches Natsu's eyes as the other man hits the ground, watching them flicker back to normal as he stares back at her, some deep rooted horror shinning in his eyes. His lips move, though Lucy can't hear what he's saying between the shrieking trees and the snarling pair of Berserkers, the other man forcing himself back to his feet. Blood trickles from the corner of Natsu's mouth, a cut above his eye leaking blood that drips onto the grass below his feet. His lips move again, and this time Lucy catches the word. " _Go_ ," he tells her, voice lost to the sounds of the forest and the fight. She's about to shake her head when his eyes turn pleading, his control wavering as the scent of blood swallows him once more.

The other Berserker regains his footing and sends a vicious blow to one of Natsu's knees, sending him crashing down. His legs buckle beneath him, and Lucy can only watch as Natsu hits the ground with a quiet thud. A second blow catches him across the chest, streaking his skin with fresh blood.

Lucy turns and runs. She doesn't look back.

* * *

 **AN: I was going to have this chapter be longer originally, with more of the fight, but I decided I wanted to have most of it be in Natsu's POV. It's kind of hard to describe a fight coming from someone else's POV, you can't really mention emotions or pain.**

 **Anyway! Huge thanks to anyone who has/will review! You guys are great! As always, reviewers will receive a brief preview of the chapter before it's posted!**

 **Also, this fic is super close to 400 followers, which is amazing! Thanks everyone!**

 **PS: I'll be posting the first chapter of a new fic later tonight! It's called Incandescent, and it's a demon/monster hunter!AU. Later today, I'll also be posting a poll on my profile asking for you guys to vote about what new story you'd like to see most! There's about 4/5 that I'd like to start soon, but I want to know what you guys are most interested in!**

 **Have a lovely day!**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **Edited 3/17/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Eleven**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Natsu watches Lucy until she disappears into the trees, heading west for Jorah. He grits his teeth as the forest swallows her, jaw locking and fingers clenching. They're still too far from Jorah and he's not sure how long she'll be able to run on her leg the way it is. It's been getting better everyday, but if she hurts it again… He shakes the thoughts off, glaring up at the other Berserk, who hasn't moved since he'd brought Natsu to his knees.

Growling, Natsu forces himself back to his feet, dragging his gaze away from where Lucy disappeared and back to his opponent. The other man doesn't so much as twitch, just keeps smiling: wide and cruel, rife with bad intentions. Anger bubbles in his chest at the grin on the man's mouth, Natsu's lips curling back over his teeth to bare them in a snarl that makes the trees quiver around them. A low rumble tears from somewhere deep in his chest, and the older Berserk eyes him almost wearily. Any fear is masked behind his smile, however, and Natsu finds himself wanting to rip it straight from his lips.

Blood leaks from the fresh cut across Natsu's chest, but the dull throb is masked by the burning heat flooding through his veins, his temper rising to uncontrollable levels, ones he's been trying to force down for days. Typically, it's easy enough to drown out the anger—the _bloodlust_ —but with the constant running, the paranoia and sleepless nights, Natsu knows that it won't be a matter of simply shoving the anger aside. He can already feel the red tugging at the edge of his mind, begging to take control. It's been ages since he last lost himself naturally, several months at the very least.

He's been aching for a good fight.

Natsu shakes himself, shoving back the red. It's not what he needs, not right not, at least. He just needs to buy Lucy time to get to Jorah, nothing else. If he loses complete control, there's no telling what he might do, especially if Lucy tries to double back and he doesn't realize it's her until—and Natsu won't risk that.

The other Berserk watches him for a long moment, more curious than anything else, and Natsu finds the lack of action to be both appreciated and greatly concerning. His chest has been aching since Lucy first stabbed him, his breathing remaining unsteady despite the days passing. And now that the wound has been reopened it'll only be worse. Natsu glances down at the blood on his chest briefly, relieved to notice the amount is less than he originally thought.

Pale, clear blue eyes lock with his green ones and Natsu purses his lips in thought. For the other Berserk to pause like this he's either a very gracious opponent or he's been calculating Natsu's reactions, and he wouldn't bet money on the former if he had any.

"Should we go after her, Brother?" the other man asks, almost teasingly, but there's a hint of malice in his tone. Natsu can only begin to imagine what the other Berserk would do to Lucy if he caught her, and the thought makes his stomach twist into sick knots. His anger rises once more, but the older Berserk doesn't appear to care. His smile only widens, enough to show a mouthful of sharp, white teeth, each one filed into an unnatural point. Natsu is unfamiliar with the custom, but knows immediately that the other Berserk wasn't born in Alvarez or even further North.

A Southerner then, likely one that's never seen a real winter. _Ulfræders_. Blood traitors. That's what Igneel called them once. Those who forsake the ice, abandoners of Djehl. Igneel once said that those who abandon the Northlands don't deserve the blessing of the Old Gods.

Natsu's hands clench into tight fists and rolls his neck until it gives a satisfying crack. His spine stretches out, each vertebrae giving a sharp 'pop' as he twists. The other Berserk continues to watch curiously as Natsu shakes himself out, head cocking to one side and his eyes narrowing. When Natsu grins it's more of a snarl than anything else, all sharp teeth.

He thinks about that the other Berserk said, about going after Lucy, and a low growl rumbles in his chest, guttural and warning. "You can try," he threatens, slowly circling right so that he's facing towards the east, the sun burning at his back. The trees around them go quiet suddenly, and Natsu can't help but feel relieved, having long grown tired of their murmured nonsense.

The taller Berserk throws his head back and laughs, shoulders heaving. It's a full body laugh, his entire frame quivering, straight down to his knees, which shake so violently that Natsu thinks they may collapse beneath him. The Berserk stops just as suddenly as he'd started, though the amusement doesn't leave his eyes. "I like a challenge," he tells Natsu, an odd flicker in his gaze that makes Natsu uncomfortable.

It's a look that promises pain, but that's not what unnerves him, no, it's the complete lack of regard for human life he can see just below the surface. More than just a look promising pain, it's a look that promises enjoyment of that pain.

Disgust bubbles in his chest, but Natsu doesn't let it show, merely steels his expression into one of indifference. He gives the other man a quick look, noticing immediately the lack of scars on his skin. Berserks have always worn them like trophies, the carved marks a symbol of pride—honor—yet this man has none.

A blood traitor then, but also a fraud.

"You think you can beat me?" Natsu snarls, feeling his own shoulders shake with silent laughter. He swallows it down, knowing better than to let his arrogance show. The King has sent nothing more than a joke after them, more bark than bite. It's almost insulting.

His chest gives another sore ache, and Natsu fights back a wince, his teeth grinding together in irritation. However insulting it may be, Natsu knows that he might not be able to win otherwise, not in the state he's in now. He hasn't fought a Berserk to kill since the arenas, and that was nearly a decade ago.

They're an even match, both able to block out the pain until there's nothing but rage left. And Natsu expects nothing less than a bloodbath.

The other male shifts on his feet, lips twitching and eyes amused. "I think we'll find out." It's the only warning Natsu gets, before the man is suddenly lunging forward across the grass.

The blow hits him hard—harder than he was expecting—and Natsu is clear off his feet for several seconds before he slams onto the ground on his back. A hand grapples for his throat, but Natsu wedges a foot between them and lifts. He catches the other Berserk's arm and wrenches him forward, sending the bulkier man over his head. Natsu snarls as the weight disappears, rolling to one side just in time to avoid a blow where his head would have been.

The ground shatters, splintering like glass instead of dirt, and the trees scream _murder_. He's heard stories of the forests being connected, the trees' roots winding all throughout the woods and touching every living creature—feeling every creature. He believes that now, feeling the weight of their sorrow lay heavy in his mind and in his heart. It's suffocating for a moment, and then the weight is gone from his shoulders, the trees' misery slowly creeping back inside themselves. The trees say nothing more, and Natsu's heart aches for them.

Noting his distraction, the other Berserk twists around, aiming a kick towards Natsu's throat, only to have his leg caught inches away. Natsu snarls, fingers tightening around the joint until he can hear bone grinding together, creaking and threatening to snap. The limb is yanked from his grasp before he can do anything else, and Natsu scrambles back to his feet, watching the other Berserk limp backwards with some satisfaction, a bruise surely forming around his ankle.

Natsu merely sneers back when he notices the other man's glare, his contempt rising when he notices the lack of burnished gold settled around his throat, no bright ruby twinkling against his skin. _Ulfræder._ "They didn't collar you." It's not a question, not really. Natsu knows that if they wanted him collared he would be. There's no escaping the heavy weight of gold, not for them. Natsu knows the feeling of it well, the inky blackness that creeps into his mind and takes control, the pain that jolts through his head and down his spine. He knows what the collars do, but he would rather suffer through that pain than know he went along with anything willingly.

The Berserk shrugs, then fakes right, glancing a blow off Natsu's cheek. It stings briefly, but he knows it won't bruise. The other man snarls, towering over Natsu and lashing out with another fist, one that Natsu ducks under easily. He slips under the Berserk's arm, not hesitating as he surges upwards and knocks his temple against the other man's chin, dazing him just enough for Natsu to hook a leg around his and send him spiraling onto his back.

The downed Berserk grunts, shoving his hair out of his face. "They didn't need to," he snarls back, pulling himself up from the dirt. Natsu's lips curve back over his teeth at the confession. It was something he already guessed, but to hear it aloud? He doesn't think he's ever been more disgusted with one of his kin. Pergrande has slaughtered their Berserks, beaten them into nothing, and this man works for them willingly.

Natsu would rather be dead.

"Why come after us?" he asks, throwing himself to the side to avoid a strike. "Why not take the chance to run?" He isn't fast enough to dodge the second, and a fist is driven into the side of his ribs, just above the armor around his abdomen.

The other man snorts, shaking his head as a sick smile spreads across his lips. "Now, why would I want to run?" he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. His eyes are serious, however, gold and glossy, broken.

There's a pang of sadness in Natsu's chest, a sadness that wells in his throat, but he swallows it down, gritting his teeth. He has no sympathy for this man, not when he's gone along with Pergrande willingly for so long. Not when he's murdered innocent people in the name of the King. "After everything they've done," he scoffs shaking his head. A bittersweet laugh slips from his lips, his shoulders shaking as contempt creeps through his veins. " _Traitor!_ " Natsu lunges driving a fist across the man's already broken nose, satisfaction crawling down his spine when he hears it crack in a second place.

The blood on his hands makes his fingers slick, and Natsu winces as red clouds his vision on the left, blood dripping into his eye from a cut above his brow. The man doesn't give pause as he swings right back at Natsu, sharp nails cutting him across the cheek and a fist driving into his chest, just below the knife wound that's been reopened. Natsu bites back a whine, attempting to ignore the screaming in his lungs and the sore ache that his chest gives every time he breathes in.

"I was born in Bosco, you know," the taller man tells him, cracking his knuckles against Natsu's cheek hard enough to bruise. A foot glances off his ankle and Natsu stumbles backwards, catching himself before he can fall. He retaliates with a strike of his own, satisfied when he sees blood well across the other man's shoulder. "Slave traders." Natsu's head cracks to the side, blood running down his chin. He wets his lips, veins burning at the scent of blood in the air. "I had a choice and I made it."

Natsu sneers as he side-steps the man's arm, fingers curling around his wrist and twisting. The other Berserk twitches and snarls, swinging with his free hand, but Natsu catches that one as well. Blood drips down Natsu's fingers as his nails dig into the man's wrists, and the Berserk gives a low warning growl that Natsu ignores. "You walked away from one master into the hands of another," he snarls, almost mockingly, twisting the other man's arm until it threatens to snap.

"I have no master!" The other man jerks away with so much force that Natsu's left arm ignites with pain, his hand falling limp at his side, fingers going numb. Natsu glances down at his arm, wincing when he sees his arm hanging uselessly at his side, his shoulder pulled out of place. It hurts more than he could ever imagine, but he grits his teeth and forces himself bite it back, unwilling to show his pain.

Natsu spits out blood, sneering. "A dog with no collar is still a dog," he tells the man, straightening his back when he sees the other man begin to shake almost violently. Natsu almost has him where he wants him: angry and stupid. Their anger is powerful, but only if they can control it. Bulkier? Stronger? It doesn't matter if they let the red cloud everything else.

The other man pauses, going eerily still. "Shut up," he snaps, blue eyes going icy as he stares back at Natsu, a mess of red and gold. Blood drips down from his nose, coating the lower half of his face in a deep ruby, some of it beginning to dry already, peeling and flaking. Natsu glances down at the man's chest, pleased to see the rune for chaos has been warped, smeared until it's unrecognizable.

No one should value chaos above family, even those who have no family left.

"You've abandoned your people," Natsu tells him, softer than before. The words lay heavy between them, the air growing still and the trees still hidden away inside themselves, trembling and mourning. The other man goes still, his shoulders going rigid and his back straightening. His fingers curl into fists, palms trembling. "And your pride."

To abandon one's people is the greatest offense a Berserk can commit. To turn their back on the Old Gods—to leave behind your family and friends—to trade protection for bloodlust. It's the ultimate form of disgrace.

The other Berserk laughs then, but it's shaky and his hands won't stop trembling. "What people?" he asks Natsu, lips twisting into a bitter smile. His blue eyes frost over, the heat and the anger leaving behind something colder, something calculating and cruel. "They already abandoned us."

Natsu takes a step back, remembering his mother and the way she handed him off to strange men, weeping but never once trying to take him back. Anger curls in his gut, but he shoves it down, buries it and leaves it for a later day. His mother loved him in her own ways. _Igneel_ loved him. He won't spit on their graves and abandon their memories.

" _Ulfræder_ ," Natsu calls him, voice barely a whisper as it carries across the clearing, a roar amongst the silence. The Berserk startles, the word a blow. He takes a step back, eyes going wide and lips curving back over his unnatural teeth. A growl bubbles in his throat.

The trees quiver around them, pulling their minds back to the surface. The Ellyra take up the new word, hissing it among themselves, murmuring it and sneering. It spreads, until every tree around them is snarling the word towards the other Berserk, voices growing louder and louder until Natsu can barely think.

 _Ulfræder._

The other man snarls back, " _Descæter_." Deserter. Natsu merely laughs. He didn't have anyone in Pergrande to desert. Not by the end.

The other man lunges and for several minutes it's a whirl of red. Natsu's arm continues to hang at his side, dislocated and aching, a burning wracking his body every time the limb is shifted and bumped. A cut is made across his chest, criss-crossing the one made by Lucy and sending a new gush of blood dripping down his front. It's not as deep or thick as the first, but it's longer, and more blood spills out when he moves his arms—when he _breathes_.

Natsu returns the favor, clawing at the other man, tearing his nails across skin and drawing blood. He hopes they scar—hopes they serve as a reminder of this day.

This man should have ran from Pergrande and the King when he was given the chance.

Somehow they end up on the ground, rolling through the dirt and smearing blood across the grass, Natsu wraps his good arm around the other man's throat and squeezes, though not hard enough to snap his neck. "Stand down," he orders through grit teeth, wanting to give the man another chance. Natsu knows well what Pergrande has done, he knows that the other Berserk deserves freedom before death, even if his hands are itching to finish the fight.

Neither of them have lost control yet, but it's only a matter of time. And when they do there's no telling what might happen. Natsu is sure this isn't the only Berserk tracking them, the king wouldn't risk sending just one to finish the job, he's always been too liberal with his soldiers, never knowing when to let things go. So long as they're in Pergrande there'll be someone following close behind them.

His blood runs cold when he thinks of Lucy, alone now and heading for Jorah. He needs to get back to her, has to make sure she gets back to Fiore—

"Why would I want to do that," the Berserk sneers back, his own hands curling around Natsu's wrist, trying to force him off. Natsu snarls back, forcing more of his weight onto the other man's throat until he wheezes and his nails begin to dig into Natsu's wrist, drawing blood. The scent of blood becomes too much, and Natsu feels his control begin to slip, his bones thrumming and excitement welling in his chest.

He swallows it down, eyes sad as he stares down at the Berserk. "I don't want to hurt you," he admits, though it sounds unconvincing even to him. He does want to hurt the other man, wants to kill him, but mostly he wants to stop the itch creeping up his spine and tingling at the back of his neck. He wants to fight—wants to lose control and rip his opponent to pieces, but he also knows that isn't him. It's the beast in his chest, clawing its way out.

A foot is pressed into his gut and Natsu thrown to one side. He rolls, landing deftly on his feet. The other Berserk stands as well, the look in his eyes screaming bad intentions. "Oh, but I do," he tells Natsu, malice in his tone. "I _really_ wanna hurt you, but first, I think I want to make the little girl scream." He turns west, making to run in the direction Lucy disappeared to minutes earlier, perhaps even longer.

Natsu snarls and tackles him before he can get more than a few steps away. He curls his good arm around the man's throat choking him from behind, squeezing until the man begins to stumble. Rage floods through Natsu, washing away every ounce of sympathy previously clawing at his heart and replacing it was something darker. The beast squirms in his chest, fighting to be released, and Natsu's control slips even further, so much so that he snarls into the other man's ear, wanting to sink his teeth into the man's throat and tear out the blood from within.

The other Berserk squirms, twisting just enough to bury his teeth into Natsu's bicep, his head thrashing and ripping, blood immediately welling around the wound. Natsu roars, releasing him suddenly and kicking him forward. The Berserk stumbles, but doesn't fall. He turns back to Natsu with a bloody smile, red smeared across his lips and dripping down his chin. Natsu glances down at his arm, but there's too much blood for him to see the extent of the bite. He turns back to the other man, snarling.

"Temper," the other man drawls, throat bruising and voice hoarse from the damage. The beginning of a deep bruise licks at his skin, red bleeding beneath the skin. He stares back at Natsu, licking the blood from his lips, satisfaction in his eyes. "What's wrong?" His head tilts to one side as he glances from Natsu's arm to the murder in his eyes. "Didn't like that?"

Natsu cracks his knuckles, gaze hard. "Stay away from her," he growls, voice even but low. There's a threat there, a quiet one that promises pain, but the other man merely laughs, broad shoulders shaking.

"I hit a nerve, didn't I?" he asks, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. He rolls his shoulders, a pensive expression on his face as he pretends to think about something. "How bout, I drag her back here," he starts, gesturing after Lucy, "and you watch." Natsu snarls and he laughs. "I could tear her apart, you know? I bet she has the sweetest screams."

Natsu swings blindly catching him below the eye and cracking something, though he thinks it may be his own hand. The Berserk stumbles back, but block Natsu's next strike, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "I bet she'll beg," he coos, so close Natsu can smell the blood on his mouth. "Did she beg _you_ to stop?" A roar leaves him, but the other man just laughs. Fingers lock around Natsu's wrists, holding him in place as the Berserk continues to taunt him. "Did she cry when you had your hand around her throat and started to squeeze?" Natsu flinches, feeling like there's a hand wrapped around his heart and squeezing. "I bet she did, but you didn't stop. You just held on tight and tighter and—" He cuts off suddenly, a sick smile on his face when he leans back, meeting Natsu's eyes. "I bet you _liked_ it."

Natsu finally shoves him back, his teeth grinding together as the other Berserk steps back, laughing. The trees have gone quiet once more, and Natsu can't help but be thankful. He doesn't want to know what things they'd say about him. Bile rises high in his throat as he remembers the scent of Lucy's blood, how much he _did_ enjoy it. He can't remember he screaming, but he's glad he can't. He doesn't think he would be able to sleep at night if he could. "You don't know me," he forces out, the words shaky and thick with self-loathing.

Sometimes Natsu doesn't even know himself.

"Why don't I just finish up here and then go get her?" the other man continues, slowly circling to the right, towards Jorah and Lucy. Natsu bares his teeth but stays quiet this time. His palm shakes at his side, his throat tight, and Natsu can barely breathe as he registers the other man's words. "She do that to your chest? Little spitfire. Just how I like 'em," the Berserk jokes, giving a low, teasing whistle.

Natsu sneers, wanting to kill the other Berserk, but knowing that he'll hate himself for it afterwards. He lunges anyway, knocking them both to the ground once again. The Berserk kicks Natsu to one side, sending him rolling onto his back. "You abandoned you post for a pretty face," he hisses at Natsu, disgust evident in his tone.

Rolling out of the way of a fist, Natsu laughs, one leg swinging forward to knock against the man's ribs as he scrambles to his feet. "I didn't have a post to abandon," he tells the Berserk, shaking the grass from his limbs and watching the other man struggle back to his feet. He lunges forward then, catching the other Berserk across the jaw before driving a vicious kick into the man's knee, satisfied when he hears it crack. The other man stumbles forward, doubled over, and Natsu drives a knee into the man's face, knocking him backwards several steps. "Do you want to know why she ran?"

The other Berserk spits out blood. "She's a coward," he tells Natsu, baring his teeth. He swings, catching Natsu under the chin and sending his head snapping to one side.

Natsu laughs so hard that his shoulders begin to tremble, the open wounds on his chest screaming in pain as his movements pull at the skin. "No," he chuckles, gaze steely as he looks at the other Berserk. "I just didn't want her to watch as I killed you."

The next several minutes are a red haze, blood spraying across the ground, skin ripping and tearing, the smell of metal and death heavy in the air, choking off Natsu's senses and leaving him unable to simply breathe. One of his fingers breaks and his left arm is yanked further out of its socket. the wound on his chest splits further, and other Berserk drives two fingers into the hole left by Lucy's knife, digging them deep into his flesh and wiggling them until Natsu screams and throws him off. Snarls and screams fill the air between them, blocking out the low murmuring of the Ellyra until the clearing is little more than a cacophony of painful sounds.

Somehow, Natsu ends up on his back beneath the other Berserk, hands are wrapped around his throat, choking him, and Natsu's lungs begin to scream. For a moment, he lies there, stunned. Wondering if the burning in his chest is similar to what Lucy felt when he had his own hands curling around her neck. Another pang of guilt hits him in the chest, ghostly fingers coiling around his heart and squeezing.

He wonders if he deserves this.

Above him, the other Berserk cackles, speaking lowly in his ear about how he's not going to kill him, just make him hurt. How he's going to make Lucy hurt, too, and how Natsu's going to watch. It makes his stomach twist, but he can't get a foot between them to knock the man aside.

His right arm stings at his side, blood still leaking from the angry bite mark on his bicep. He tries to swing, but the Berserk ducks to the side, laughing. "You think she'll beg for it?" the Berserk asks. "I do. I think she'd beg me to stop—for you to help her. But you can't even save yourself, can you?" he hisses, squeezing Natsu's throat tighter in his fist. "She's going to die slowly and it's going to be your fault."

A low whine escapes Natsu's throat, but he swallows down any other sounds that may spill from him. Something sharp digs into the side of his leg, just beneath his boot, and Natsu's fingers twitch when he remembers what he took. He struggles to shift his leg, begging his hand to reach just a little farther, if not for his life than for Lucy's.

Something warm and sharp pricks at his fingers, the flat edge of carved stone slicing against his palm as he grasps at it blindly, uncaring of the broken edge and splintered pieces of stone dragging across his skin.

His hand comes away bloody and slick, but he grips the stone tighter in his hand, swinging up and out, aiming for anything he can hit. There's a scream, a squelch of blood, and a sick crack. The pressure around Natsu's throat loosens, a shaky exhale leaving the Berserk above him.

Natsu glances up, meeting wide, pain filled, icy blue eyes. Natsu drops his hand to the side, leaving the piece of stone lodged into the side of the other Berserk's neck, unable to feel anything at all. The Berserk's hands go to his throat, clawing at the side of his neck as blood begins to drip from his skin. A low whimper leaves the older man, soft and heartbreaking, but Natsu only snarls and snatches the stone from his throat, uncaring of the blood that spurts across his skin.

The Berserk collapses against him, choking and sputtering, but Natsu shoves him, kicking him aside so that the man is staring up at the sky. He glances down at the stone in his hand, wipes the blood against his pants, then shoves the object back into his boot for another time.

For a long moment he stares down at the blood on his skin—his hands, his chest, he can feel it on his lips—listening to the sounds of the Berserk die beside him, muffled nonsense leaving his mouth, buried beneath sobs. He wants to feel bad as he looks at all the blood, but he isn't sorry. Not for this.

Natsu doesn't know how long he sits there alone in the forest, listening to the trees whisper and the Berserk gasp for air as he claws at his throat—long enough for the sun to burn low in the West and for the Berserk to fall silent and still. Lone enough for Natsu to hear him die.

After what must be hours he finally glances to the left, forcing himself to sit up as he stares down at the other Berserk. His eyes are open, glossy and unseeing as he stares up at the stars for one last time. His lips are parted in a silent cry, blood coating the entirety of his left side around his head. Tear tracks leave two silver lines across his face, the blood and dirt washed away by salt.

He forces himself to his feet, legs unsteady beneath him as he stares down at the dead man, unsure what to do now that it's over. He glances West, to Jorah. Five miles. Lucy's waiting for him. He glances down at his bloody chest, shivering, then back at the body on the ground.

" _Ashtacar_ ," he murmurs, the blessing falling from his lips instinctually. A prayer for safe travels. " _Ashtacar_."

* * *

 **AN: This chapter was a bitch. Get ready for some (slow burn) nalu next chapter though! I'm really sorry about not sending a preview of this chapter to reviews, but I kind of started this last night. Yeah. It's been a bad week and writing has been the last thing on my mind.**

 **Sorry for any mistakes! I'll be fixing them later tonight!**

 **Be sure to leave a review and tell me what you thought! Thanks for over 400 followers and be sure to check out my new story Incandescent and vote in the poll on my page!**

 **Glossary of World-building terms (all created by me, though may be influenced by other languages):**

 **Ashtacar: Berserker word meaning "safe travels." Traditionally used between friends and family, it has since become a way to honor the dead, granting them "safe travels" on their way to the next life.**

 **Ulfræder: Berserk word for "blood traitor." It's a relatively heavy insult. Being a "blood traitor" is an unforgivable act equated to the abandonment of family, culture, and morality.**

 **Descæter: Berserk word for "deserter." Follows the same vein of Ulfræder, but is less insulting. Blood traitors abandon their homes and families, while a deserter abandons their post/army position.**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **Edited: 3/24/18. Very minimal changes.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twelve**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Lucy runs until she can no longer hear the snarling and snapping coming from the Berserkers warring behind her. She runs until the trees have all fallen silent. The Ellyra whimpering as she passes them, low and mourning as they curl in on themselves, more tree than sentient creature. They whisper no more warnings; sing no songs. All she can hear is the rapid beating of her pulse in her ears boomboom _boom_. And that's all she needs to hear—needs to hear that she's still alive.

Her ankle aches beneath her, throbbing with every step she takes, but Lucy doesn't stop. She doesn't think she can. Five miles. She only has to run five miles. Even less now. Jorah is close. She can make it. She has to make it. Four miles. Maybe three.

Biting her cheek until it bleeds, Lucy wills herself to move faster and faster, until the Ellyra become a great blur of blood and bones, trees stark and silent in the deep, dark forest. The great, white trees quiver as she passes, leaves rustling lowly as their trunks appear to bend and twist. The shadows play tricks on her eyes, and the trees feel like ghosts. There, but not entirely alive.

A shriek pierces the air, a scream coming from all sides, and Lucy nearly trips, catching herself at the last possible moment, her palms slamming against the ground. The trees cry out, an icy hand drawing a path down Lucy's spine as she hears the trees around her take up the scream. They're connected, she knows. They're all connected. When one tree bleeds, they all do. When the forest creatures bleed, they all do.

She prays that it's a tree that's been injured, prays to the Old Gods that it's not _him_. Ellyra can grow new limbs and sprout back from the smallest of seeds, but he can't.

She wills the thoughts away, a heaviness leaving her heart as the trees curl back in on themselves once more, dragging their misery back with them. They love to share with those around them, but she never did want their sadness, not when she has enough of her own.

After that the forest becomes a blur. Blood and bone; blood and bone.

The old shanty comes back to her after minutes— _hours—days_ , the one her mother used to sing to her. She doesn't know why it comes back to her now, but the words bleed onto her tongue and she feels herself mouthing them without meaning to, feeling the heavy weight of them resting on her lips.

 _When will my drowned lover—_

The words taste like poison on her tongue, thick and sickly sweet. She remembers the same trill to her mother's voice as she sang—remembers the blood on her mother's lips as she was ripped apart at the seams, still singing. Always singing. Always smiling. Until the bitter end, her mother always said. Until the bitter end.

Around her, the Ellyra take up a hum, cooing and trilling, her own words echoed back at her.

 _Come home, come home, come home to me?_

Her legs burn and her chest aches, but the mountains begin to grow larger, taller, until they tower over her, so much bigger than she remembers them being only moments ago. She blinks, and suddenly she can see a gate, a black, iron wall nestled in a pass between the mountains. She recognizes the gate, remembers passing through it weeks ago on her way to Đüskell.

Jorah.

 _A sword at his hip, eyes shinning with glee_.

Lucy falls to a sudden halt—lungs screaming, ankle burning, head pounding—and stares down at the black gate and the guards stationed outside. There's two of them, twice her size and burly, bears on two legs. Northmen, she thinks, from Mithriel or perhaps the sons of men from Mithriel, back from the last great war. The border is blurred, she knows, but the blood is bad. She doubts any man from the Icelands would work for Pergrande, not on their good name.

She shakes her head, fingers curling tightly around her the strap of her bag, willing it to keep it's secrets hidden should they search her. Suddenly she remembers her last meeting with a guard of Pergrande, how he grabbed her, _touched_ her. Her lips curl back in a snarl, fingers itching for her knives, but she doesn't take them. She merely tightens her hands into fists, steeling herself as she stares down at the town, gaze calculating as her eyes sweeps across the gate and the guards, the wall stretching across the pass.

For a moment, she considers scaling the wall, but brushes the thought aside, knowing a fool's errand when she sees one. Shaking her head, Lucy sucks in a deep breath through her teeth. Her eyes lock on the gate and the guards and without a second thought she steps forward, her bow a comforting weight on her back. Her ankle still aches as she walks, but it's dull, not nearly as sharp as it was the first time.

 _When will my drowned lover—_

Without realizing it, she's neared the gate, legs moving without her permission. The trees disappear around her, their constant presence gone from her sides. She feels bare without them, uneasy. Though no more than pale bark and bloody leaves, the trees felt more like a friend than anything else. Constant, there when she needs them, silent when she doesn't. For the first time in days, Lucy is truly alone once more.

She steels her nerves, locking eyes with one guard as she nears. Both men straighten as they see her, gazes trained on her. Lucy lifts her head high, stalking towards them. She forgets to appear small and unthreatening, forgets to curl in on herself as she passes, despite remembering what happened the last time she neared a guard. What she does remember is breaking fingers and the taste of blood on her tongue.

Her fists tighten, muscles tense.

When she passes through the gate, both men nod, letting her pass.

 _Come home, come home, come home to me?_

Lucy smiles.

* * *

She walks blindly through Jorah for hours, long enough for her feet to ache and for the sun to sink into the horizon, deep shades of violet and red bleeding across the sky. The stars aren't out yet, but Lucy knows it won't be long until the town goes dark, the moon and stars the only source of light to be found. She's been pacing, waiting for Natsu, hoping— _praying_ —that he'd stroll through the gates at any moment, alive and unharmed, and give her that crooked grin he sometimes does.

But he hasn't; she's beginning to think he won't. The sky is darkening and the streets are growing thin, most people turning in for the night. She knows that a fight between Berserkers can last for hours on end, days even, if the opponents are well matched. While she wants to think he could defeat anything, she knows that's not possible. Natsu is strong, she knows that very well, but there's only so much he can do. And he was already hurt before the fight.

He's not dead though. She won't believe that. Not until the other Berserker finds her and rips her to pieces. If he finds her, then she'll know that Natsu's not coming back.

Lucy sighs and shoves her hands deep into her pockets, staring out through the gate just as she has been for the better part of the afternoon. They close at midnight, she was told by a kind older woman several hours earlier, open again at six. There's still time. She fidgets nervously with a loose string in her jacket, winding it around her finger absentmindedly. It confuses her, how attached she's grown to him in such a short amount of time. It's only been a few weeks, less than three, but the thought of leaving him behind leaves a bad taste in her mouth—makes her heart lurch in her chest.

It shouldn't but it does. When they first met it wasn't pretty at all. Despite not knowing him well and how poorly their acquaintanceship started, she's grown to enjoy his company, his presence reassuring if nothing else. She doesn't know why she's trusting him so easily, maybe because she doesn't have many other options or maybe because Lucy knows if he wanted to kill her he would have done it long ago, but she does trust him. She just doesn't know what that says about her.

Shaking her head slowly, Lucy twists on her heel, turning her back to the gate and the forest. Away from what's not there. She makes it a step before a heavy hand falls on her shoulder, fingers curling around her injured arm. Lucy hisses, reeling back as the bite on her shoulder flairs with pain, and whirls back around, meeting the gaze of one of the two guards from earlier. The other isn't far behind him, gaze curious as he peers down at her, and a third has joined them, though he hangs farther back, ignoring her presence.

Immediately, she takes another step back, fingers slipping from her pockets and edging towards her knives. The older of the two guards notices, his lips pressing into a thin line, but the younger simply smiles, expression friendlier than she anticipated.

"Can we help you, Miss?" the younger asks, genuine concern brewing in his eyes. Lucy glances between the pair, gauging their expressions. Her eyes slip passed them suddenly, drifting beyond the gate once more.

She inhales sharply, ripping her gaze away. "Sorry," Lucy murmurs, "I'm just—" she cuts off suddenly, swallowing down the growing lump in her throat. "I'm just waiting for someone." The older guard peers down at her, dark eyes locking with hers. Lucy shifts, wetting her lips as she turns her eyes away from his, suddenly feeling more nervous than she was expecting.

The man—who couldn't possibly be any older than forty, behind his bushy beard and his wise eyes. "Well," he rumbles, voice deep, an accent thick on his tongue. Mithrien. "It's gettin' dark," he tells her, casting a glance up towards the sky, the sunset bleeding into darkness. "You may want to get a room for the night before they're all booked." He hums in thought, pursing his lips. "Wouldn't want a pretty thing like you to be stuck on the streets all night."

For a moment, she bristles at the comment, but his expression is more concerned than anything else, so she lets it slide. "I didn't think many people passed through Jorah," she responds as casually as she can. _No one leaves Pergrande_. That's what Natsu told her.

The guards exchange a glance, the younger looking away first and instead fiddling with a strap on his armor, the polished gold worn and dusty. The older turns back to her. "You're not wrong, Miss," he admits lowly, as if it's a secret. "We've 'ad a sudden influx of soldiers from the capital. King's orders."

"Aye," the younger one tacks on, rubbing a hand against his clean shaven face. He bites his lip for a moment, casting a glance around them. "The King's men have been crawling around for days." He spits it like it's something vile, his lip curling as he mentions the King.

Lucy frowns, eyes narrowing in confusion. "Are you not the King's men?" she asks them, eyeing their armor and swords. The Centari crest is brandished across both.

The younger man snorts, lips curling at the edges as if it's funny, but he says nothing in response to the question. "If you're looking for a room," he tells her, "I'd suggest stopping at the Blue Moon. Peg's always got room to spare, right, Bard?" He nudges the other guard with his elbow, receiving a sharp nod in response.

"Thank you," she says after a long moment, glancing between the pair slowly. "I'll do that." Lucy hoists her bag higher on her shoulder, giving the men a quick nod before turning around once more, heading back towards town.

She remembers seeing an inn called the Blue Moon, she just hopes she can find it again in the dark. Lucy glances up, worrying her lip when she realizes the stars have come out, the moon high in the sky, round and full.

"Miss." Lucy pauses, glancing back to see Bard staring back at the gates. He doesn't look at her as he speaks. "I hope your friend doesn't keep you waitin'," he murmurs, voice quiet in the darkness. His gaze slides to the side, meeting hers. "There's a storm brewin'." He doesn't spare her a second glance as he heads back to the front gates, back to his post. The younger man follows without a work, leaving Lucy alone in her silence.

She stares after them for a moment, then simply walks away.

Lucy doesn't know how long she walks around in the darkness, it takes her more than a few minutes to gather her thoughts and search for the inn the guards mentioned, but she finds the Blue Moon easily enough. It's not hard to spot, with it's large sign, a ghostly moon painted in a soft blue. Lucy hesitates before entering, silently wondering if this is some sort of trick. She has no reason to trust the word of two guards she's only just met.

Though, she also has no real reason not to.

If they had wanted to get her alone somewhere, they had the perfect opportunity to do so earlier.

Lucy huffs, shaking her head before shoving the door open without a second thought and stepping inside. The main room is dimly lit, only a small lantern hung in the center of the room, casting shadows along the walls. It's magicked, she thinks. There's no flicker of firelight, only a soft, steady glow. A blessed object, maybe. Or perhaps a glowing firestone from Minstrel. They're expensive though, from what she's been told.

Brushing the thought aside, Lucy steps further into the room, catching the attention of a small, older woman sitting behind a desk that practically swallows her from sight. The woman smiles when she sees Lucy, calling out a quiet greeting in Përn. Lucy forces her own smile.

"Hello," she greets softly, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt absentmindedly. "I'd like to rent a room." She meets the woman's—Peg, she guesses—eyes wearily. "Please," she tacks on at the end, trying for another smile, but it feels stiff on her face, false.

"Just for the night?" the woman asks in a thick, rolling accent, far different from the one she heard back in the capital. Gruffer, she thinks, harsh as the frigid winter winds. It must be because of the border, how close Jorah is to Mithriel. The language from the snow country is rough, throaty.

The question echoes through her mind and her pulse quickens. One night. What if Natsu isn't back before morning? Lucy bites her cheek, teeth gnawing at the skin until she's afraid it might bleed. She doesn't want to leave him behind, not after what he did to keep her alive, but one night is about all she can afford. One night is all that's safe. She would be a fool to think the King only sent one Berserker after the two of them. She doesn't have time to waste in Jorah, not if there's a chance Natsu won't—Lucy shakes the thought away, not wanting to think about him being hurt but knowing that it's inevitable. She doubts anyone could make it out of a fight with a Berserker without being hurt.

Her left arm gives a sore ache in response to her thoughts, a bitter reminder.

A shuddery little breath leaves her, spilling out before she can stop it.

There's a chance he won't ever be coming back.

"Are you all right, Dear?" A hand reaches out, fingertips just barely brushing against Lucy's shoulder before she jerks back in surprise. Her eyes snap up, gaze wild before she suddenly remembers where she is. The woman stares back, eyes concerned—kind. She's never seen eyes more kind. Gentle and green.

Her mouth opens, then closes again. Lucy wets her lips, swallowing down the lump growing in her throat. "Sorry," she murmurs back, shaking herself slightly. She hesitates, glancing towards the door and the dark clouds forming overhead, promising rain. "Just the one night," she whispers, wincing, "for now. Thanks."

Peg nods slowly, still smiling, then turns to a row of keys on the wall, brushing a finger along them until she comes across one she likes. "Anytime, Mishka." Lucy doesn't know what that means, but it sounds warm and almost parental, so she forces another smile, because Peg is being nice, though it may only be her job, and Lucy is too tired and scared to deal with anyone else tonight. Peg holds out the key to Lucy, dropping it in her palm. "Second floor. Third door to the right. Have a nice evening!"

Lucy wants to thank her, but the words catch in her throat, so she merely nods instead, turning towards the stairs a few paces away and dragging herself up the flight. It doesn't take her long to reach the room she'll be spending the night in, but to Lucy it feels like hours. She'd hadn't realized earlier how much she aches until just now. She's drained: physically, mentally, emotionally. She doesn't think she can handle anymore surprises tonight.

Her bag drops to the ground. A moment later, her bow follows. Then the knives. Hands trembling, Lucy shrugs the jacket from her shoulders, letting it pool around her feet. Lucy kicks off her boots, mindful of her ankle, still sore, but no longer aching with every move she makes. Her fingers still against the hem of her shirt, only briefly, but then she pulls the dirty, stained shirt over her head, dropping it to the ground without a second thought. A chill creeps over her exposed form, the window opened just a crack, but she doesn't mind.

Stooping, Lucy reaches for her bag once more, fiddling with the straps for a moment before burying her hand inside. She pulls out a fresh shirt and a new roll of bandages she bought while she was out, knowing that she would need them. Swallowing, She kicks the bag away gently, making her way to the bed tucked against the wall in the center of the room. A little table sits beside it, a bowl filled with clean water resting on top.

Dropping silently onto the bed, Lucy unclips her socks from her belt, wriggling the belt off from under her shorts, but leaving her socks untouched. She glances down at her arm, frowning at the bandage curled around her upper arm. Tugging her glove down slowly, Lucy is relieved to see that the black veins haven't traveled further down her arm, all of them covered, bandage coiled around her arm from shoulder to elbow. She won't be able to hide it for much longer. Not that she should be hiding it anyway.

She's still going to tell him. If he does come back. She doesn't know if it's poison or an infection, but she's hoping he might know.

Lucy rips off the other glove and tosses it to the floor beside the other, then wriggles the clean shirt over her head. The room is dark and quiet, and Lucy simply sits on the bed for several long seconds. She stares at the wall, watching the moon cast a shadow from the window.

Settling onto her side, Lucy doesn't bother to slip under the sheets as she lies down on the bed. She curls in on herself, guilt beginning to eat at her insides. She shouldn't have left him—shouldn't have run away like a coward. She should have stayed and done something. Anything. If he doesn't come back…

She sucks in an angry breath, hissing through her teeth. If he doesn't come back, she's going to carry that with her for the rest of her life—how she abandoned him there. She won't forgive herself for it, not if he _dies_. She's only known him for a few weeks, but he's been her constant for that time, hardly straying from her side unless he needed to.

He matters to her, more than she ever would have anticipated. Despite the circumstances, despite the memory of his teeth sinking into her skin, she doesn't want him to die—doesn't want him to bleed out alone in the dark. Lucy wants him to come back, alive. A few weeks is not a lot of time to become familiar with someone, yet here she is, waiting, _praying_. Praying is something she hasn't done in a long time. The Old Gods never listened.

Lucy prays to Djehl, their fire god. If anyone could protect Natsu, it would be Djehl. She hopes he hears her, if not for her sake than for Natsu's. He doesn't deserve to die for her mistakes.

Her thoughts fall quite after some time, but Lucy doesn't sleep. She can feel it pulling at her eyes, her mind, but she doesn't close her eyes. Lucy stares at the wall across the room, at the door, and at her things scattered across the floor. She lies there for what must be hours, until moon has risen so high that she can no longer see its light streaming through the window. The open window has left a chill through the room, and the cold pricks at her skin, but she ignores it, curling tighter around herself.

A shadow moves across the wall, humanoid and tall. Behind her, she hears a creak as the window is forced open further. Lucy stills for a moment, wondering if it's only her eyes and ears playing tricks on her, the darkness and sleep pulling at her mind. She doesn't move for a long moment, confused and sluggish, but the room suddenly drops in temperature, a chill sweeping through the small room.

The shadow on the wall moves then, and Lucy both watches and hears as someone slips through the window, landing softly on their feet. She almost doesn't hear it. Almost. The person sighs, unsteady on their feet, and takes a step further into the room.

Lucy moves then, snapping up and rolling off the bed onto her feet. She curses herself for not keeping her knives on her, but she can still get to them before this stranger gets to her. Judging by the way his shadow sways, he won't be able to move faster than her.

Something makes her pause, however, before she can lunge for her knives. A tug in her gut anchors her in place, willing her to turn around—to look at the man that's entered her room. And she does.

It takes her a moment to peer through the darkness, but she catches sight of golden armor glinting in the moonlight, dirty with dirt and blood. Scarlet fabric hangs from the man's hips. Her gaze slides higher, over a familiar chest, bloodstained and bruised. Green eyes meet hers in the dark, unnaturally bright and warm. Blood leaks into his eyes, but Lucy thinks she would know them anywhere.

She sucks in a shaky breath, eyes wide as she simply stares for several long seconds. "Natsu," she breathes, his name heavy on her lips. He's alive. Beaten and bloody, but _alive_. Lucy gives him a once-over, gaze skating across his form. There's blood everywhere, his hands, his face, his chest.

He's alive.

Natsu smiles when she says his name, a familiar crooked grin. It's more strained than usual and doesn't meet his tired eyes, but it's a smile nonetheless. He takes another step towards her, his own eyes taking her in, making sure she's okay. Green eyes lock with her's once again, holding her gaze. She finds relief there, and something softer, warmer.

"Found you," he murmurs, voice hoarse and throaty. He takes another step, nearly stumbling. "I found you." His smile widens, though only slightly.

Lucy lets out a breathless little laugh before launching herself at him, surprising the both of them. Her hip rams into the bed frame as she stumbles through the darkness, sending a flair of pain up her leg, but Lucy doesn't care. She presses up on her toes, arms winding around his neck as she pulls him to her. He smells of blood and sweat and she can feel blood, both dried and wet, sliding against her skin. He's alive though, and that's all that matters.

A pained sound tumbles from his throat as she squeezes too tight, but before Lucy can pull back his arms are winding around her waist, holding her tighter to his chest. He sucks in an angry, relieved breath, nose pressed to her hair, and squeezes her gently around the waist, as if she might just disappear.

His breath fans across her throat and Lucy sucks in a shaky breath, one hand playing with the hairs at the base of his neck, the other slipping down his back, until she can feel his heart beating through his skin, steady and strong.

A relieved little sound tears from her throat, and she feels him murmur something against her hair, but doesn't understand the words.

Lucy pulls back as best she can with their arms wound so tightly around each other, just enough to look at him. There's blood on his face, but he's smiling at her, eyes bright and relieved. Her hands slide around to cradle his jaw, thumbs stroking along his skin. He leans into her touch, the tension slipping from his shoulders like water. "You're okay," she murmurs. Alive. He's alive.

His hand is firm on her back, holding her steady against him. "I'm okay," he promises, voice barely a whisper in the darkness. His smile turns wry, gaze turning hard for only a moment. "It takes more than one Berserk to kill me," he tells her, thumb tracing gentle circles along her spine.

She sends him a sad smile, lowering herself back to her feet and stepping away. He lets her go, arms slipping back to his sides. Lucy gaze drifting back to his chest, to the bloody mess it's become. She winces.

"You're hurt," she murmurs. It sounds stupid when she says it, but she can't keep the words from tumbling out. The sight of him almost makes her sick, he's so covered in sticky blood, too much blood.

He only smiles, expression gentle. "A little," he agrees, eyes alight with amusement.

Lucy reaches for his hand, noticing for the first time how much bigger it is than hers, and slips her palm into his. One of his fingers is bent oddly, bruising around the knuckle, and she thinks it might be broken. His fingers curl around her hand, and Lucy gives him a small tug forward, pulling him from the window slowly. He follows her, allowing her to walk him around the bed, closer to the door. She almost slips over her boot in the darkness, not paying attention to her feet, but his hand holds her steady, not letting her fall.

She settles him onto the bed gently, taps a meaningful finger against the armor plate on his abdomen, then turns back to her bag on the floor. He shifts behind her, and she can hear the sound of a belt unbuckling, heavy metal clanking against the floor. Lucy manages to pull a cloth from her bag, as well as the healing paste she carries with her, fingers shaking slightly as thinks of all the blood.

When she turns back to him, his armor is gone, settled across the floor, the red fabric around his hips gone as well. Her eyes slide down his abdomen briefly, gaze sweeping over the newly bared skin, but they don't linger.

His eyes are on her as she comes back to him, on the cloth in her hand and on her face, curious. She sends him a watery smile, heart heavy, and he returns the look, tired and melancholy. When Lucy reaches his side, she nudges him closer to the headboard, closer to the table and the large bowl of water settled on top. Natsu seems to understand, shifting in place and making room for her at his side.

Lucy settles against him, keeping one foot on the ground, her right knee pressed tight against his thigh as she leans over him. Natsu watches her as she dips the rag into the water, his eyes following her as she rings out the water before turning back to him.

She starts with the blood on his face, dabbing carefully at the cut above his brow. He holds still for her, not moving a muscle as she slides the cool, wet along his brow, his cheek, his chin, revealing clean, tanned skin, mottled only by the bruising along his jaw.

Water drips down his throat and Lucy's throat tightens as she sees the bruising. Finger shaped marks mar his throat, deepening in color with every second. For a moment, she remembers the feel of his hands around her throat, squeezing and growing tighter and tighter.

A sob wells in her throat, but she swallows it back, running a gentle finger over the bruises before pulling back to ring out the water.

The cut above his bow has clotted, but she thinks it might need stitches. She doesn't trust herself to do them, not now. It'll have to wait until morning.

She just started to clean the bloody mess on his chest when he starts to speak.

"I killed him," Natsu tells her lowly, voice quivering as he speaks. She glances up from his chest, locking eyes with him. They're wet, she notices, and there's something like guilt there, something she's grown far too familiar with. He swallows thickly, fingers settling against her bare thigh gently, almost a ghost. His fingers are warm against her bare skin, and when she doesn't protest or pull away his grip grows firmer, simply holding her to him. "He was going to kill me," he continues. "And then he would have killed you." His hand tightens on her thigh as she dabs at his chest, clearing away enough blood to see the wound clearly. "I just—"

She slathers the green paste on his chest as he cuts off, hissing slightly as the paste burns at his open wounds. She hushes him gently, soft fingers trailing over his ribs. "You did what you needed to do," she whispers back, reaching for the bandages on the table.

He's silent for a long time as she winds the bandages around his chest, his fingers drawing nonsensical shapes against her thigh. "I don't regret it," he tells her as she drops the bandages back to the bed. Her hand still over the water bowl, the water tinged red and the rag soaking in it. "Does that make me a monster?"

Lucy wets her lips, ringing out the rag once more and shifting, peering down at his left arm. She wipes the blood away. "Why would that make you a monster?" she asks him.

"I killed him," he murmurs as Lucy cleans the blood and dirt from his arm, her touch gentle. He stays quiet as she works, and then, "I almost killed you." It comes out choked, thick, as if it hurts him to say it aloud.

She pauses in her work, the rag falling against her thigh with a wet slap. Bloody water soaks into her sock. Her eyes lock with his, gentle as she meets his gaze. "That wasn't you," she reminds him, glancing down at the bruises around his neck. A shiver runs down her spine.

His jaw locks in place, eyes ripping away from hers. "It was my hands," he growls back through clenched teeth, angry, though not at her.

With a sigh, Lucy cups his face once more, gently tilting his head up to meet her eyes. Her thumbs brush against his jaw. "It was my hands that did this," she reminds him softly, one hand trailing down his chest to rest against the bandages wound around him. Guilt pulls at her chest, welling in her throat, but she swallows it back. "We do what we need to do to survive," she tells him.

His hand comes up to cover on of hers, holding her palm against his cheek as she pulls the bloody rag from her thigh. She turns to his right arm, carefully running the cloth across his skin. Her blood runs cold as the blood is wiped from his bicep, revealing a bloody bite mark against his skin. She inhales sharply, a finger ghosting over the mark. He doesn't flinch at her touch.

She wants to ask, to mention the mark on her own arm, but they're both exhausted, and Natsu has felt enough guilt for one night.

So she covers the mark in the green paste and wraps his arm in more bandages, touch light as she runs a finger across the crisp, white bandages coiled around his upper arm.

Natsu sighs through his nose and releases her hand. She doesn't pull back. "You waited for me," he murmurs, barely audible in the silent room. "Why?" His gaze burns against hers, beseeching.

Lucy merely smiles back, slipping off him slowly, though keeping her hand on his cheek. "Because you're… my friend," she whispers back, hesitating only slightly, the word strange in her mouth. Her thumb brushes against his jaw for only a moment. Friend may be a bit much, but he is _something_.

It hangs in the air between them, and Lucy crawls across the bed to lie on the other side. She slips beneath the sheets quietly, curling onto her side away from him. For a long moment he sits there silently, not moving, hardly breathing.

The bed creaks as he shifts, slipping beneath the blanket slowly, as if waiting for her to protest. But she doesn't, and he curls up behind her, not touching her, but close enough that she can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves. He sighs and she can feel his breath against the back of her neck.

And that's the last thing she remembers.

* * *

 **AN: This chapter was also a bitch. It ended up longer than expected and I had to cut out several things. More nalu next chapter! What's going to happen in Jorah? I guess you'll have to wait and see!**

 **I'm considering trying to update twice a week (Saturday/Wednesday) and was wondering if that's something people would be interested in? I'll only be doing so if chapters can reach 50+ reviews, which shouldn't really be a problem, all things considered. I probably won't be able to do so this week, because I have a lot to do, but starting next week I probably can.**

 **Be sure to leave a review and tell me what you thought! Be sure to check out my new story Incandescent and vote in the poll on my page!**


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **Edited: 3/31/18**

 **Once again, my ANs at the end of the chapter are NOT NEW. They are the ANs that came with the original chapter. Any mentions of future updates/other fics are from several months ago, unless stated otherwise.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

 _The trees whisper amongst themselves in hushed tones, low, indistinguishable voices a hum in the silence of the night, echoing through the stillness of the forest. Their gnarled branches twist together like thorns_ _—sharp, mangled, and bare of leaves—_ _winding and curling overhead until the sky above is nearly blackened out by the copse of wicked spines, only thin slivers of the waning moonlight flickering through the bare trees, illuminating the thicket with pale light. A thick, rolling fog hangs low over the forest floor, twisting between the trees like ghosts and swirling around the prone figure lying in the dirt. A biting chill curls through the air, fallen leaves rustling as a breeze sweeps through the woods. The fog dampens the earth as shadows dance across the ground, the scent of rain heavy in the air._

 _She blinks slowly, her vision remaining blurry and unfocused as her gaze flickers around what she can see of the copse. She shifts, sending messy coils of blonde hair spilling over her shoulder and obstructing her vision as she slips in and out of focus. Blinking heavily, she stares at the trees, distorted oaks appearing as hazy figures in her vision_ _—monsters slipping from the shadows and creeping closer with every breath_ _._

 _She winces suddenly, groaning in pain as her forehead throbs, a sharp, stinging ache spreading through her entire head. Something slick slides down her temple, though she hardly notices, more interested in squinting at the shadows coming to life around her._

 _The trees begin to quiver, bending and leaning in every direction, almost as if they were dancing_ _—trembling with fear of something she can't see_ _. Her eyes slam shut once more, and she whimpers softly as the whispering gets louder. The voices grow closer and closer as the trees begin to shake violently, the wind picking up and whipping the dead leaves across the ground until they begin to swirl around her._

 _Her eyes snap open wide and the forest falls silent once more. The voices disappear and the leaves still_ _—trees standing tall around her, as if they had never been moving to begin with._ _Her fingers twitch suddenly_ _—_ _scrapping across the ground almost violently as her nails sink into the fresh earth, rain still falling around her. Her eyes narrow in bewilderment as a phantom, icy finger runs along her spine, prickling the bare skin of her back as pale moonlight dances across her naked arms and shoulders, the ghost of a breeze making her shiver._

 _Holding her breath, she goes stock still, not daring to move as her fingers freeze against the wet ground. She peers through the curtain of hair falling in front of her eyes, heart beating out of control. Around her is nothing but naked trees winding high into the air, dead leaves littering the ground in warped shapes_ _—nothing else in sight_ _. Just dying trees and the fog curling around her frozen form._

 _A low, mournful sound splits the air, a single note that disappears as quickly as it came. The trees shriek suddenly, the thicket taking up the violent cry, roaring like a northern beast. Another hum, soft and sad, and the trees echo again. She twists to the side, a hand curled around her throat and squeezing—choking._

"— _drowned lover—"_

 _The sound is cut off, a sob building in her throat as she recognizes her mother's voice._

 _Around her the trees rattle, branches snapping together high above her head. She startles when a twig snaps in the darkness. Her mother keeps singing, and she forces herself to find the sound through the shrieking and snarling that's built up around her._

"— _come home to me."_

 _She drags herself across the wet earth, ignoring the mud and the rain, the screaming trees and the voice in her head telling her not to look._

 _The smell of blood hits her first, pungent and metallic, so strong that it makes her pause, bile rising into her throat as the smell attacks her senses. She swallows it back, a sick shuddery breath tearing from her as the smell curls around her, death hanging in the air._

 _At the edge of the copse, she forces herself to stand. Her lips twist into a grimace as she shifts her gaze around the thicket, squinting, eyes straining to see past the fog and branches, looking for anything that might tell her where she is. Being careful not to make a sound, she curls her arms closer to herself, flinching when a twig snaps beneath her, sounding all too loud in the darkness, even with the raging storm and the bloodcurdling screams. She releases a shuddery breath, lips quivering as she pushes up on her forearms, lifting herself just enough to raise her torso from the dirt. Her head snaps around once she does, dirty hair falling in her eyes, twigs and leaves twisted among the messy curls._

 _Her arms quiver beneath her as she shifts, settling onto her knees, then forces herself onto her feet, legs trembling so terribly she nearly crumples back to the forest floor, only staying upright by some miracle. Her jaw clenches tightly, teeth clanking together painfully as the aching worsens, a hiss escaping through her teeth before she can stop it._

 _A cackling sound reaches her, and suddenly she's standing at the edge of a clearing, watching as three men in golden armor prowl around a woman lying on the ground, snarling and snapping at her as she smiles back, singing a broken song that makes her soul ache._

 _The men attack at once, more beast than man, the trees shriek and cry, mourning as the woman is ripped into pieces. It happens slowly, a knife driven into her chest, the blade shinning silver for only a moment, and then just a spray of blood. So much blood._

 _They mangle her, tearing her apart until she's nothing more than a bloody streak against the wet grass. Still, she keeps singling. The woman's head drops to the side suddenly, bloody throat torn open wide and an eye hanging loosely from its socket. Her lips are twisted into a smile, blonde hair matted and dirty with blood and dirty._

 _Her mother's face_ _—her face._

 _Her heart leaps into her throat, choking off the shriek bubbling in her chest. A strange gurgle is all that escapes her, foreign to her ears as it crawls from somewhere in the back of her throat_ _—low and guttural, surprised_ _. Her hands fly up to cover her mouth as she reflexively steps back, hitting a damp patch of grass as her dress tangles around her ankles like a malevolent hand. She crashes back to the forest floor, eyes slamming shut as the back of her head makes contact with the ground._

 _Her head snaps back up, and she meets a pair of eyes, glowing red in the darkness. She scrambles back on her hands, dragging herself away, but the monster only smiles, revealing sharp teeth and so much red that it spills over his lips and chin. Two more peer back at her._

 _They're all red._

* * *

Gasping, Lucy jolts awake, fingers tangling with the sheets as she lurches forward. She gasps for breath, a sob sticking in her throat and tears burning at the back of her eyes. Outside, the wind howls, rain pattering against the window, half-open and letting in a chill. A shiver wracks through Lucy, the cold air creeping into her bones and curling through her chest. She exhales slowly, her racing heart beginning to slow, wakefulness tugging at her senses. Her eyes squeeze shut briefly, sleep clouding her thoughts.

Red eyes peer back at her in the darkness of her hazy mind—red eyes, red teeth, red hands.

A whimper escapes her, the nightmare coming back, just as it always does. She shoves it down into the darkest corner of her mind, banishing it, locking it away until it inevitably comes back. And it will come back. Something so terrifying does not so easily disappear. Not after so many years. It's a plague, she knows, like the one that afflicted Fiore for over a decade nearly one hundred years ago.

She wonders how long it will continue to eat at her, how long it continue to consume her. She wonders how long she'll continue to let it.

Beside her, the covers shift, Natsu sighing in his sleep. Lucy glances down at him, eyes roaming the expanse of his back, his neck, his shoulders, the pale scars littering his bare skin. She couldn't count them if she wanted to, there are simply too many. A crescent on the back of his shoulder catches her eye, smooth and silver, shinning in the pale light streaming through the window, and she wonders what wicked thing could have done something so terrible.

Lucy continues to peruse his back for several minutes, tracing scars and mapping the lean muscle of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders. Eventually, her breathing returns to normal, her heartbeat quieting to a whimper in its cage of bones, and Lucy inhales deeply, the tension slipping from her shoulders as she listens to the rain beating against the side of the inn.

She always has loved the rain—the smell of it, the feel of it on her skin, how it seems to wash everything away. It was raining that night. She remembers the sound of it, the thunder, how it drowned out her mother's screams, but not the singing. Never the singing. She hears them in her dreams, the singing, the screaming, the shrieking of the trees, all blurring together into one great roar that leaves her ears ringing and her heart aching.

Shaking her head slowly, Lucy releases a quivering breath, a sob bubbling in her throat. She swallows it back, running a trembling hand through her hair, working through the knots and tangles that have found her during the night. Her fingers catch, pulling too hard, and Lucy lets her hand fall back into her lap, defeated.

Natsu breathes deeply, chest rising and falling slowly, evenly save for the small hitch in every other breath. There's a steady rhythm that she's come to notice, a stutter in his inhales and his too heavy exhales, not a snore but not a sigh, something caught between. She's grown familiar with his breathing, with the rise and fall of his chest and back, the sounds he makes. It's a quiet comfort, one that she never would have expected.

The rain continues to pour outside, muffling Natsu's inhales and exhales, and settles back onto their shared bed, the cold nipping at her skin. An icy finger draws a path down her spine and Lucy buries herself beneath the thin blanket, curling close against the Berserker's back. Lucy worms low in the bed, her freezing nose pressed between his shoulder blades and her lips a breath away, warm air puffing against his skin with every exhale.

He groans, arching away from the chill she brings with her, but settles soon enough, a sigh escaping him as he lets her nestle between his shoulders, close enough to smell the blood and sweat sticking to his skin from the day before and to hear the steady beating of his heart.

Hesitating only briefly Lucy settles a hand against his lower back, her knuckles gazing his skin softly, absentmindedly. He sighs again, then shifts into her touch, his back pressed tight against her chest. Lucy's cold toes tickle at his calves where his pants have ridden up. He huffs at the chill, but doesn't wake.

Her nightmares slink back into the shadows, shifting along the walls, irritated. She imagines them hissing like wildcats, stalking around her and waiting for an opening. Lucy squeezes her eyes shut, letting the darkness surround her. For a moment, fear prickles at her skin, but Natsu is warm against her front, and his rumbling breaths muffle the echo of her mother's screams. The soft vibrations travel through his chest and into her, comforting.

When she opens her eyes, the shadows are gone, only faintest rays of light flickering across the walls.

The dawn comes too early, violent reds and burnished gold, and Lucy squeezes her eyes shut, determined to sleep, at least for a little longer. It can't be more than a few hours since Natsu crawled through her window, six at most. It's too early for both of them.

Lucy rests her temple against Natsu's spine, letting herself rise and fall with him. Her lip catches between her teeth, and she bites down harder than she means to, stifling a curse when she tastes copper on her tongue. She licks it away, soothing the split skin, ignorant to the way she's begun to trace circles against his skin with a light finger, only half aware of herself.

The steady motion of her finger and the thud of his heart through his back is what draws Lucy back towards sleep. Natsu is warm against her, chasing away the cold that seeps through the walls and the open window. She should close it, she knows, before the rain gets in.

But she only curls closer to him, lulled back into a half-sleep by the rain and the hitch in Natsu's breath. She lies there for a long time, not quite awake, not quite asleep, until the sun breaches the horizon and the rain dips into a patter. Dozing, she cuddles closer against the Berserker's back, her temple resting between his shoulders to the she rises with every breath he takes.

She finally stirs what must be hours later, the sunrise unkind as it spills into the room and her eyes. Lucy groans, whining as she burrows closer to Natsu and away from the morning chill. Wakefulness grips her firmly, winding around her mind all too quickly, and Lucy sighs as she realizes she won't be falling back asleep anytime soon. She always has been something of a light sleep, early to rise despite being a night creature. Her nightmares make sure of that.

A shudder runs along her spine, Lucy blanching as she remembers waking up in the middle of the night. She hadn't had another, thank goodness, but she knows it's only a matter of time until it comes back once more. Nothing makes it go away, not even Makarov's tonic, which has been known to send even the burliest of men into a dreamless sleep.

Resigned, she drags herself out of bed, slipping from beneath the blanket slowly, being careful not to wake the sleeping Berserker. He needs rest after what happened, she could see it in his eyes last night. Natsu was utterly drained when he crawled though the window, limbs quivering and his footing unsteady. More than that she could see it in his eyes. They were dull, hollow, and it unnerved her more than the red eyes of her nightmares.

She's never seen eyes so defeated before. And she never wants to again.

Lucy stretches when she stands, her spine cracking satisfyingly, and she turns on her heel, walking to the other side of the bed slowly. She crouches beside the bed, leveling herself with Natsu, and lets her eyes roam his face. He looks peaceful when he sleeps, not as haggard, younger even. She knew he was about her age, only a few years older at most, but he hadn't looked it, all hard lines and dead eyes.

Reaching out slowly, absentmindedly, Lucy rests the back of her hand against his cheek, knuckles stroking against his skin softly. He stills briefly, and Lucy is afraid she's woken him, but he settles again soon enough, breathing out a heavy sigh and leaning into her touch. She smiles down at him, brushing the hair away from his eyes to get a better look at the cut above his brow.

Her lips twist into a grimace when she sees it, her lips curving back over clenched teeth. The clotting has split during the night, a line of blood dripping into his hair. A lump builds in her throat as she runs a gentle finger over the split skin, her hand coming away red and sticky. She pulls back suddenly, Natsu groaning in his sleep, curling in on himself as his face twists in pain. His arm curves around his ribs, and Lucy realizes with a start that they must be broken, fractured at the very least.

She ghosts another finger down his cheek, murmuring quiet nonsense and shushing him. She stays with him until he quiets, a bitterness churning in her stomach as her gaze slips from one wound to the next. Now that it's light, she can see them better, though she wishes she couldn't. He's worse than she originally thought, and she doesn't have the supplies to help him further.

Her gaze slips to his chest where the blanket has ridden down, eyes locking on the bandage wound around his upper body. It's soaked through during the night, and she realizes it must need to be stitched as well. Her hand slips to his chest, hovering about the dirtied bandage, but not touching. Eyes flicker up to his face, his breath fanning against her, she's so close.

Jaw clenching, Lucy stands on shaky legs, moving away from him as she gathers her clothing in a fist, sweeping it all together. She turns her back to him, peeling her nightshirt away from her frame, nose wrinkling when she spots streaks of blood and sweat clinging to the once clean fabric. The worst is a large, red patch resting between her shoulder and collarbone, so deep that it looks like Lucy herself has been stabbed.

The fabric is tossed aside, disgust flooding through Lucy as she realizes just how much blood he's lost. Shaking the thought aside, Lucy pulls on her clothing from the day before, slipping her boots on over her socks, though leaving the laces undone. She pulls a new shirt from her bag, red and gold, and yanks it on over her head, liking the way the soft fabric drapes down her frame, loose around her hips, but cinched closer towards the top. A finger traces one of the gold designs sewn into the fabric, following the trail from the hem until it disappears again just below her breasts, all of the lines connecting into one point, trailing off the hem where her top splits into a "v" that ties around the back of her neck, her back bared to the air.

Blinking slowly, Lucy fixes the white camisole beneath her top, lace barely visible along where it cuts across her breasts, the stark fabric peeking out from below.

She leaves her belt and doesn't bother with her gloves, merely shoves a knife into the side of her boot and tosses her bag over her shoulder. For a moment, she hesitates, eyeing her jacket, but ultimately decides to leave it, she won't be gone for long.

Lucy glances back at Natsu once as she leaves the room, careful not to wake him, and smiles when she sees his features smooth, less hard lines and strong jaw and more of a gentleness about him. She doesn't watch him long, just enough to make sure he won't wake, then turns and leaves, letting the door shut with a click behind her.

The stairs dip and creak as she walks down them, but Lucy isn't trying to sneak about, she has no reason to hide here. As an outsider here, she must already be of suspicion, it won't do her any favors to be caught creeping through the halls.

Fiddling with her bag, Lucy doesn't notice Peg sitting behind her desk until the older woman speaks up, startling her.

"A man climbed into your room last night," Peg states offhandedly, causing Lucy to freeze in her tracks halfway to the door. She turns on her heel, staring wide-eyed at Peg, who spares her a brief glance before going back to cleaning the sharp edge of a sword that Lucy hadn't noticed before. Peg brandishes it almost threateningly, but there's no malice coming from the other woman. She glances up, quirking a dark brow and waiting for Lucy to speak, her green eyes more curious than suspicious.

Lucy's tongue becomes heavy in her mouth, sticky and thick. For a long moment she simply stares back at peg, unsure how to respond to something like that. She hadn't thought that anyone saw Natsu climbing in through her window, most already asleep by that time. It seems she assumed too much.

"I know," she responds, hesitant and a bit awkward. She shifts on her feet, suddenly embarrassed by the look Peg is giving her. The older woman smirks, green eyes twinkling in amusement and Lucy feels herself flush, aware of what Peg must be thinking.

Silence thickens the air between them, Peg simply continuing to polish her sword and Lucy fingering the strap of her bag, wondering if it would be possible for her to slip inside it. Probably, she thinks, but it might be a challenge to find her way back out. She doesn't know what becomes of the things in the bag when she doesn't need them.

Peg hums in thought after a moment, smiling. "Friend of yours?" she asks lightly, a teasing glint in her eyes. Lucy wonders how much she saw in the darkness, praying that she didn't get a good look at his armor or the blood covering his chest. She would rather Peg think Natsu is simply her bedmate, than a hated soldier of the King—former soldier, anyway.

She worries her lip between her teeth, fingers clenching tighter around her bag. She can practically feel the dark energy pulsing through the fabric, the magicked collar humming, calling too her. Her arm gives a sore ache in response, throbbing in time with the gem in her bag. Lucy ignores it, shaking the thoughts away and crossing her arms, sending Peg what she hopes is a coy smile. "Something like that," she responds simply, not sure what to call him. A friend, yes, but not in the way Peg is implying.

"He didn't look so good last night," she tells Lucy, casual, but there's a hint of steel in her words, not anger, exactly, but something sharp. Lucy thinks it might be a warning, but what for she doesn't know. Peg stops cleaning her sword, dropping it against the table roughly despite her care in cleaning it. "Thought 'e wasn't gonna make it."

Lucy flinches, remembering the blood from last night. She'll have to dump the water later, when she gets the chance. She should have done so this morning, when the ground was soaked and no one would be any wiser. Should have, but didn't. "I know," she replies, softer this time. Her voice wavers only slightly, Peg's comments beginning to unnerve her.

Peg hums lowly, giving Lucy a sharp nod. She stretches out her arms, cracking her joints and turns instead to an old book resting atop her desk. Lucy frowns when the other woman ends the conversation, but thinks it might be for the best. She turns on her heel again, heading for the door.

"You may want to find something to cover that armor, Dear!" Peg calls after Lucy, a trill to her voice. Lucy freezes, hand hovering over the knob. A cold sweat pricks at her neck, her heart leaping into her throat. "Folks 'round here don't take kindly to the King's dogs." She sneers it, though Lucy isn't entirely sure which part the woman finds disgusting.

Whipping around, Lucy bristles, baring her teeth at the other woman as hot rage floods through her chest. "He's not—"

Peg raises a hand, placating Lucy, and cuts her off. "I know," she replies gently, green eyes gleaming with something sad that Lucy can't pinpoint. "But this town's crawlin' with soldiers," she reminds the younger girl, glancing towards the door quickly. Her lips press into a thin line, highlighting the creases of her face, lines created with age. "Best get a move on, you two."

Lucy bites her lower lip, glancing between Peg and the door. "Why are they here?" she asks slowly, shifting her weight to her right leg. Her shoulder burns and she winces, once again simply ignoring the wound. There are more important things to worry about.

Peg doesn't look up, though her hands do still as they hover over her book. For a long moment, she doesn't reply, and Lucy begins to think that Peg is simply going to ignore her. Her shoulders droop, and Lucy clenches her jaw, yanking open the door without a second thought.

"A storm's brewin'," Peg calls after her suddenly.

It's what Bard told her last night. She hadn't thought much of it, figured he meant the thunderstorm last night. Perhaps, it's something bigger than that. If it is, that means they need to leave as soon as they can.

Lucy pauses, wetting her lips. "If he wakes up…" she trails off, not looking back at the woman even as she hears Peg stand and walk closer. She pauses only a few feet behind Lucy.

"I'll let him know you'll be back soon, Lass."

Lucy gives a sharp nod, then disappears out the door without another word.

* * *

 **AN 3/31/18: Minimal changes made in this chapter. Chapter 14 should be posted tonight.**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **Edited 3/31/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Natsu inhales sharply as he awakens, his body going stiff as finds himself in an unfamiliar place. Frantic eyes dark around what little he can see of the room, a door, articles of clothing scattered across the floor, haphazard and significantly less that he thinks it should be. He tries to swallow, confusing sweeping through him, but his mouth and throat are bone dry. Squeezing his eyes shut, Natsu tries to remember what happened last night, where he is and how he got here. His mind is foggy, slow as he drifts between worlds like a ghost.

It comes back to him quickly enough once the last tendrils of unconsciousness release him from their grasp. The fight. The blood. Becoming a monster— _murderer_. That's what he is. Maybe that's what he's always been. The kind of beast His Majesty has always wanted. He's a—Natsu shakes the thoughts away, relaxing just the slightest as clarity comes back to him, the haze of sleep slipping away from his mind.

Jorah. He's in Jorah. He made it. They both did.

His shoulders go rigid, muscles tensing when he realizes he can't feel Lucy's presence against his back, her warmth along the length of his spine, her breath against his shoulder blades. He was dimly aware of her constant presence throughout the night, always there when he was lying awake, drifting in and out with the pull of the moon. Natsu holds his breath, body impossibly still as he listens, hoping she's only rolled away from him in the night. He doesn't look, afraid of what he might find; afraid of what he might not find.

But there's no heat coming from behind him, no soft sounds of sleep. Natsu knows that she murmurs in her sleep, especially in the early mornings, awake but not entirely. He doesn't need to look to know she isn't there. It's something he can feel deep in his bones. Most of his short life he's been alone, and loneliness is something engraved in him. Natsu knows when he's utterly alone.

Lucy is gone. She has been for some time now. Her scent is faint in the musty air, twinges of stardust tickling at his nose when he inhales a certain way. This is the third time her scent has been so faint to him, the first when he was sent to follow her—to kill her, the second only the night before.

For the longest time he was afraid he wouldn't be able to find her at all. She made so many twists and turns through the town, wandering and walking in circles. Waiting. He would have searched all night to find her if he needed to. He made a promise to her. He intends to keep it. No matter how long it takes him, he intends to keep it, if she'll let him.

He's beginning to notice a pattern, one that he doesn't particularly like. She keeps disappearing on him, leaving him hours behind her, stumbling to catch up. He doesn't like the faint tickle of her scent in his nose, gone before he can lock onto it. It makes him uneasy, realizing she's gone. He doesn't like being able to tell how long or which direction she's gone. It can be helpful, yes, but he thinks it would be better not knowing.

For a moment, a horrible thought comes to mind, but he banishes it from his mind before it can fester into something worse. He killed a man last night, now she's gone. Natsu's teeth grind together harshly, his hands curling into shaking fists. He knows they aren't related. He knows they aren't, but it doesn't stop the stinging in his chest, it doesn't stop him from folding in on himself.

Natsu sits up slowly, glancing around the room once more, slower this time. He didn't get much of a look at the room last night, too confused, too tired, too lost. It's cramped he notices, only about twice the size of his former cell, which isn't saying much, all things considered. His cell was meant for containment, nothing more. It was claustrophobic, damp, but, oh, did it echo. Natsu could hear everything in that cell. Every scream from his brothers.

Perhaps the Berserk he fought last night screamed once too, before they broke him.

This room is larger, though still small by most comparisons. The bed takes up most of the room. Unsurprising, given this is no permanent residence. Jorah was always meant for simply passing through. At least, it used to be. Not for the last ten years. Perhaps even longer than that. It's hard for him to tell how the world has changed when he's spent most of his life in a cell.

Lucy's jacket is on the floor, a pair of knives resting on top. That makes him relax, though not by much. It means she'll be coming back, but it also means she only has one with her. It shouldn't be a problem, not for Lucy, but he doesn't trust this town. She can handle herself perfectly well, something he knows from experience, but there's something strange about this place. Too many soldiers. Too much tension in the air. And something else he can't quite place, the air smells sour, sickly, like rotting fruit and the devil's eggs.

Something is going to happen here soon, he can feel it.

Natsu stands slowly, legs quaking beneath him. He leans heavily against the side of the bed, one hand flat against the wall, the other cradled against his aching chest, bruised ribs pulling painfully as he moves. Fingers prod at the bandage looped around his torso, smoothing creases and searching for tender spots along his rib cage. A whine builds in his throat as the pads of his fingers slide along a fracture, but he swallows it down, gritting his teeth.

He pulls back and his fingers come away stained red.

Hissing, Natsu wipes away the blood on his pants, as if ignoring the cuts will make them go away. But they don't. They stay, lines cutting across his skin, crisscrossing, sure to grow silver with age just as everything else does.

Natsu glances down at the bite mark on his arm, lips curving back in a snarl when he sees it peeking through a bandage. It's something he'll have to watch for an infection, an open wound like that. It won't be fun to watch for. And it won't close easily. He can tell already, judging by the way it seems to have pulled in the night, not even trying to scab and heal itself. He'd much prefer scarring to an open wound like this. Blood is easier to track. Once a Berserk catches the scent of it, it sticks, heavy on the tongue to the point where they can practically taste it.

He wets his lips, tracing a finger around the deep mark and attempting to ignore the overwhelming scent of his own blood, a sickness churning in his gut. It's too thick, too heavy in the air and in his throat. Choking him. Suffocating him.

It'll need stitches, he knows. The one on his chest as well. He doesn't know if his hands are steady enough to do them himself. Probably not. He's never had steady hands. Strong hands, yes. Soft hands, once upon a time, years ago. But never steady hands. He never knows what to do with them when they aren't shaking.

Natsu finds himself by the window, peering out onto the streets below, watching as strangers mill throughout the city. Soldiers, mostly. Branded with gold. His lips pull back over his teeth, but Natsu makes no sound as he stares. They're just men, nothing more. There are no Berserks in Jorah, he would have sensed if there were. Men he can handle, at least for a short while.

He just doesn't understand why there are so many.

Behind him, the door creeks open, sound high-pitch, a squeal. His shoulders tense briefly, but he forces himself to relax, searching for Lucy's stardust essence, ignoring the other scents in the room.

He doesn't find it, only the last remains of this morning still clinging to his nose.

Natsu stiffens again, a low growl building in his throat, rumbling with a warning. "Lucy?" he murmurs, her name heavy on his tongue, wanting to be sure it isn't her before snapping. There's so much blood in the air. He needs to be sure. Natsu is done making rash mistakes.

A laugh sounds behind him, but it isn't airy like Lucy's, not soft or light, a lilt to the sound. It's harsh, gruff, something that speaks of the bitterness that comes with age. There's something callous as the mountains in that laugh. Not cruel, exactly, but stern. "No," an unfamiliar voice tells him, chuckling as they step further into the room, the door screeching as it shuts behind them, "just me."

Natsu whirls around, growling, teeth bared in a fearsome snarl, but the stranger holds up a placating hand, making him pause, startled. A middle aged woman peers up at him, over a foot shorter than Natsu, but her expression twice as fierce. She blinks, green eyes softening as she takes in his weary frame, his chest already heavy, tightening with pain.

The woman clucks her tongue, frowning as she glances at the bandages wound around his torso, white cloth spotted with red. She takes a half step closer and Natsu snarls again, a warning more than a threat. She stills once more, and Natsu's eyes take her in with rapid glances, gaze snapping from one place to the next.

No weapons. Nothing.

He doesn't like it.

She snorts then, eyes rolling as she places her hands on her hips, the skirt of her dress swishing across the ground, almost impatient. "Relax, Berserker," she tuts, expression almost friendly. Almost, but not quite. He doesn't like that either. "I'm not 'ere to hurt you," she says it like a promise, but there's a darkness in her gaze, something unsure that speaks of pain that comes from looking at him.

He wonders how many of his brothers have ravaged this city under the King's command, how many innocent people have been slaughtered in border raids.

Natsu snorts at the promise, wanting to laugh, but the sound sticks in his throat, unwilling to tumble free. "Like you could," he growls back, more untrusting than unfriendly. She shouldn't be able to tell who— _what_ he is with a single look. Not when he has no armor, no collar, no violence in his eyes.

The old woman quirks a brow, then grins back at him. Her smile is all teeth, and he notices that her right canine is made from sapphire. The gem glints in the light and Natsu sucks in a sharp breath. Only Mithrien's use precious gems to replace teeth. The frost mines are a major export of the country, though he knows that imperfect pieces are sold for little to nothing. He straightens his back, suddenly curious.

"You think yer invincible?" the woman laughs, head tossed back. Her eyes glint in amusement, lips twitching. She raises another brow at him, giving him a onceover and snorting, clearly unimpressed. "You look half-dead already," she informs him, shaking with silent laughter.

He swallows down the lump in his throat, tongue heavy and dry. "Mostly alive," he corrects her, voice cracking as he speaks. Natsu wets his lips, shifting awkwardly as he realizes there's no threat. She could have killed him if she really wanted to. Most wouldn't wait for him to look them in the eyes first.

Her eyes twinkle. "Mostly," she repeats, almost teasing him.

For a long moment the two of them just stare, the woman calculating, gauging his reactions, Natsu confused, cautious. He doesn't move from the window, ready to toss himself backwards if he needs to, ready to find Lucy quickly and bolt before they're both turned in as traitors to the crown, him more so than her, but the Centari king does not discriminate.

Natsu doubts he would enjoy a double execution.

His gaze drifts to Lucy's knives, to her jacket lying crumpled on the ground. For the first time this morning, fear spikes in his gut. His gaze snaps between Lucy's things and the old woman, nerves flaring as a sick thought crawls its way through him.

Perhaps they've already been turned in.

The woman seems to sense his thoughts, her eyes softening just the slightest as she sees his gaze flicker with panic. "Your girl is fine," the woman tells him gently, voice soothing. She doesn't laugh this time. "She just went out for a bit, should be back soon." Her words don't comfort him, and she sighs when Natsu eyes her wearily. "I think she figured you'd sleep longer," she muses when he remains silent, crossing her arms over her chest, head tilting to one side curiously. "You look like you need it."

Natsu doesn't speak. He can barely breathe.

This time, the woman huffs. "Relax," she hisses at him, eyes narrowing, though not unkindly. "Yer making me nervous," she murmurs, pursing her lips.

Sensing that he isn't about to respond, the woman shrugs, conceding to his silence. If the situation were different, perhaps he would thank her for the information, but he's had enough surprises lately, he isn't about to take chances just because the old woman appears to be friendly. He knows better than that.

"Next time, don't come in through the window," she chastises him, turning swiftly on her heel. She takes several steps, only pausing to look into the large bowl beside the bed. She glances at it, nose wrinkling as she sees what must be a bloody mess, and lifts it without a word. "Someone could have seen you," she huffs, shouldering the bowl with a grimace, water droplets sloshing down the sides. "This place is crawlin' with soldiers."

She makes it two steps towards the door before Natsu calls after her, "You gonna turn us in?" His heart crawls into his throat a moment later, trepidation pulling at his chest. She could if she wanted to. As a citizen of Pergrande it's her duty to. The King would reward her kindly. Anyone else in Jorah would turn them in without a second thought. Or perhaps they would have simply killed him in his sleep, save His Majesty the trouble.

The woman pauses, glancing over her shoulder at him, surprise clear in her gaze. For a long moment she simply stares, blinking at him slowly. Her mouth drops open just the slightest bit, but no words come out. Then, she laughs, surprising him. "Now, why would I want to do that?" she asks, not waiting for an answer.

Her eyes twinkle, and she sends him a wink before disappearing out the door, kicking the wood shut behind her.

Natsu stares at the door for several moments, confused and oddly relieved, unsure what to think.

* * *

Another hour passes, perhaps less. Natsu pays little attention to the time, too busy pacing the floor, angry, confused, annoyed. He tried to leave earlier, to follow Lucy's scent, but the old woman—Peg he learned, her name is Peg—had simply shoved him back into the room, griping about how he would get himself killed walking around as a "bloody fucking bastard," as Peg put it.

Jorah doesn't take kindly to strangers, even less so to ones that seem like trouble. Natsu doesn't think he's much of a troublemaker, at least, not on purpose, but Peg was adamant about him staying in the inn until Lucy returned.

"There are too many soldiers," she told him, swatting at him with a broom.

Natsu snorts, even more reason for him to go, if anyone were to ask him. Soldiers mean bad news, especially if they come in large quantities. The King doesn't send soldiers this far out unless he's looking for something.

He thinks he knows what that something may be.

Grumbling to himself, Natsu settles against the bed, lowering himself gently. He grimaces, a twinge of pain lacing his ribs, but he ignores it. It's going to be a long day, he knows. It hurts to move, to breathe, to _think_. He hasn't hurt this badly in a long time, not since his first matches in the kill rings. He hadn't been prepared for the slaughter then, all the blood and violence, the screaming crowds and their sick smiles. He hadn't been prepared at all.

He broke ribs then, too, during his first match. Three of them, all on the right side. It nearly killed him, but he won the match. When they told him that, he laughed in their faces, spitting up blood and bile.

 _There are no winners_ , he told them, snarling and smiling all at once. Only death and more death. Natsu almost wishes he had died that day. Maybe part of him did. He certainly lost a piece of himself, something he can never get back, no matter how hard he fights for it.

"There are no winners," Natsu murmurs, staring down at his hands: clean, but not. He traces a scar with his eyes, sighing to himself.

Downstairs, a door is thrown open violently, and Natsu lurches to his feet as he hears it bang against a wall. His hands curl into fists, but he waits, listening as best he can through the floor. There's no screams, no shouts, only a quite word that he can't hear. He figures if it was something Peg couldn't handle, she would call him down, regardless of his half-deadness. A bloody mess or not, Natsu figures his worth a dozen soldiers now that his life isn't being frozen away in a damp cell.

The stairs creak as someone walks upstairs, careful and quiet, but loud enough for him to hear. Natsu relaxes, heaving a sigh as he realizes it's only one of the other patrons. Natsu shakes his head, hands dropping back to his sides as he turns away, ready to begin pacing once more.

Again, he thinks of the window, but his ribs ache and he doubts he could scale down without being noticed by the soldiers, it wouldn't be nearly as easy as the night before, when the men were drunk and stupid, oblivious to anything that wasn't more alcohol or a pretty face.

There's a sudden click, a shuffling outside the door, and then a soft squeal as the door is nudged open. He whirls around, head snapping up rapidly as something tickles his nose.

Stardust.

Lucy blinks back at him, expression soft but nervous as she stares at him. He cocks his head to one side, inhaling sharply as he looks her over, checking to make sure she's okay. To his watchful gaze she seems fine, nothing out of place, though she looks odd without her ever-present jacket and long gloves. Though, he must look similarly strange.

He had never thought much about his armor, the red fabric constantly tied around his hips to signal him out as a Berserk. He feels oddly naked without them, but perhaps that isn't a bad thing.

His gaze lingers on the bandage curled around her arm, his lips twisting into a frown as he notices how far down it stretches. She told it wasn't anything to worry about, a scratch, but her arm is covered in white from shoulder to elbow, her upper arm bound tightly. Something inky bleeds through the cloth, faint, but dark enough for his attention to be drawn towards her.

Lucy clears her throat suddenly and his eyes snap back to her face. Natsu relaxes when he sees her, tension he hadn't noticed before leaving his shoulders, his back, his jaw. She smiles at him, dropping her bag to the floor with a muffled thump. Her own eyes search him, lingering on his chest, his arm, the bruises blooming along his jaw. He meets her gaze, holding it, and Lucy's lips part silently, the words sticking in her throat.

Wetting his lips, Natsu takes a hesitant step forward, more relieved than he would ever admit aloud. "I woke up and you were gone," he murmurs, damning himself soon after when her eyes widen slightly.

Lucy takes another step forward, lips drawn into a gentle smile, expression almost sad. It's the last thing he wants. Before he can continue, Lucy takes another step, moving so she's barely a foot away from him. "I figured you'd sleep longer," she replies just as softly. She reaches out slowly, fingertips just barely grazing his jaw. "You weren't doing so well last night." Her lips twist into a frown, something unfamiliar in her gaze, and Natsu's heart seizes.

She called him her friend.

He hadn't meant to worry her, not as badly as he did. He could see it on her face when he squeezed through the window, he could practically smell it in the room, something sour beneath the stars. She thought he wouldn't come back. He almost didn't come back. "I thought—" He cuts himself off, teeth clacking sharply as he shuts his mouth.

A part of him thought she wouldn't come back either.

Her eyes narrow, mouth twisting into a frown that shouldn't be there. She looks worried again, about him, and his stomach twists unpleasantly. "Thought what?" she asks, edging closer. Her hand on his cheek becomes firmer, surprising him, and Natsu takes a half-step back, his calves bumping against the edge of the bed.

She moves to pull back, but he catches her fingers in his, squeezing gently as their hands drop between them. "It's nothing, Lucy," he whispers, managing a smile for her. It pulls at his split lip and he can taste blood on the tip of his tongue, but he still smiles. She relaxes when he does, though her eyes continue to search his. "I promise," he tells her, softer than before, and she nods, slow, almost hesitant.

A soft sigh leaves her nose, and she pulls back. Natsu releases her, watches as she steps away from him. Lucy doesn't go far, just enough to scoop up her bag once more. Natsu's eyes narrow, but he says nothing as dips her hand inside, riffling for only a moment before pulling back, this time with thread, a needle clutched between her fingers and her eyes expectant.

He understands immediately, and drops onto the bed with a resigned sigh. Her expression turns apologetic, and she murmurs an apology before sliding in closer, her knee pressed to his thigh as she leans over him, untying the bandage on his arm with gentle fingers. She tosses it aside, hushing him when he makes a low sound, her thumb prodding the open wound.

Lucy glances at the bowl of water, clean and fresh thanks to Peg, and makes quick work of dabbing the blood from his skin, wiping it away as gently as she can.

The first stitch is the worst, the needle cold as it slips through his skin, weaving in and back out, but he holds still for her, giving her a reassuring noise when she stills, glancing up at him to make sure he's okay. The second is better. By the third he thinks he can ignore it. It's annoying and stings, but it isn't the worst he's dealt with.

Lucy's thumb rubs circles against his skin as she works, hands soft and steady against him. Natsu's breath hitches when the needle is pulled through, but he otherwise doesn't react.

It's silent for a several minutes, Lucy working slowly, carefully, pausing between each pass of the needle. Her fingers ghost across each new stitch, to make sure it stays or to reassure him he doesn't know, but it helps, grounding him, holding him steady. Every fifth stitch she wipes new blood from his arm, careful not to press too hard.

"How did you find me last night?" she asks suddenly. Natsu's head snaps down, green eyes tracing the curve of her jaw curiously for a moment, but she doesn't look at him. His gaze slips down to his arm and her fingers on his skin. The needle hangs limp against his bicep as she reaches for the bowl.

He waits until she's ringing out the cloth to answer, letting the silence hang between them. "You smell like the stars," he murmurs as she leans over him once more. Lucy peeks up at him, gaze amused as she dabs at the blood on his arm. She shakes her head, smiling in a way that makes him think she doesn't believe him. "I'm being serious," he tells her, lips quirking into a crooked grin.

Lucy places the rag aside. "I'm sure you are," she teases, sending him another quick look. She squeezes his arm, gently but firm and Natsu grits his teeth as she presses the needle into his skin, breath catching in his throat.

He exhales through his teeth. "Do you know what we call you?" he asks, the conversation making it easier to ignore the metal in his arm. Lucy's finger ghosts across the new stitch, her amber eyes flicking up to meet his, beseeching and confused. "Faeborne," he clarifies with a whisper, careful to keep his voice low enough for only her to hear, should anyone be listening.

Peg may know what he is, but he won't let her find out about Lucy, not when he knows what could happen to her.

"I can't say that I do." She hums, drawing nonsensical shapes along his arm.

He swallows, wetting his lips as leans in closer, shifting for a better angle. "Velsigna av strakaz," he murmurs, voice gruff as he breathes the words against her ear. Lucy shivers against him, hands going still. The fingers drawing shapes on his skin sudden clench down, twitching against him. She inhales sharply. Natsu stares at her bare shoulder silently. "Blessed by stars."

He hears her swallow, watches her throat bob. After a moment, the tension leaves her body and she exhales. Lucy pulls the needle through his skin without warning and he hisses, jerking slightly. An apologetic hand squeezes his arm. "And what do they call you?" she asks him, something teasing in her tone.

Natsu snorts, lips curving up almost bitterly. "Mostly they call us monsters," he tells her. The joke falls flat. Lucy jerks back, eyes locking with his. There's a flash of something there that he wishes he hadn't seen, guilt churning his stomach. Natsu sighs through his nose, the smile slipping from his lips. "Velsigna av branna," he tells her, his free hand reaching around slowly, the flat of his palm brushing against the side of her leg. "Blessed by fire."

Lucy is silent for a long moment, her eyes searching his. She abandons the mark on his upper arm, hands coming up to cup his face, almost hesitant. "Do you think you're a monster?" she breathes, voice quivering. Her fingers are cool against him as she tilts his face up so that he's forced to meet her eyes.

His smile is bitter, almost sarcastic. "Do you think I'm not?"

* * *

 **AN: So, I'm not sure if there's going to be smut in this, but if there IS Lucy is definitely going to have a kink for Natsu talking to her in the Berserk language. Like… that's 100% going to be her turn on. Just saying.**

 **This chapter was a bitch, like holy crap! Sorry for not updating last week, it was… a crazy weekend.**

 **Be sure to leave a review and tell me what you thought!**

 **Glossary of World-building terms (all created by me, though may be influenced by other languages):**

 **Velsigna av Branna: Berserk word for "blessed by fire." As Vesigna means "to bless." "Branna" comes from "Bran (Braun)" an old word for fire, and the name of the God Djehl's battle axe.**

 **Velsigna av Strakaz: From "Estra," a Berserk Goddess of the night sky, daughter of Djerda, Goddess of night, and sister to Djehl. Term for Faeborne and a reference to their scent.**


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **Edited 4/7/18. Minor errors corrected.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Fifteen**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Natsu sighs through his nose, gaze locked on the door. Waiting and watching. For what, he isn't entirely sure. Something. Anything. He knows that something is coming, he doesn't know what, but he can feel it in the back of his mind like a plague, he can feel it in his bones. Something's about to happen in Jorah. Something terrible and violent. He just hopes he didn't bring it with him when he ran.

A shadow moves across the door, light flooding in through the uncovered window behind him. It's early. Earlier than he'd like to be awake, but he hasn't been sleeping well for the last three days. It's his chest, he thinks, it makes it hard to breathe. He hadn't noticed the first night, too exhausted to care about much of anything other than finding his friend. Nothing else mattered to him right then. It wasn't until the next night that he realized how terribly his ribs ached, how his lungs seemed to rattle as he breathed, how sleeping put pressure on sore areas and kept him awake at all hours.

Their third night in Jorah, Natsu took to pacing the room. Then the halls. And finally the streets below, winding his way through the town, practically a ghost. Walking felt better than sleeping on bruised ribs, but only so much. That night, Natsu walked and walked and walked until he could barely feel his feet beneath him, cold and bare against the cobbled streets. He'd mapped half the city by the time morning came, and when the sun began to rise he slipped back into the room through the window, mindful of watching eyes that time.

Lucy hadn't been nearly as impressed.

Against his back, Lucy shifts, sighing in her sleep as she curls up between his shoulder blades, breath warm against his skin, contrasting with the otherwise chilly air. She murmurs something he doesn't catch, cold toes brushing against his calf. Natsu's nose wrinkles at the chilled touch, but he doesn't shift away. He can feel her heartbeat against his bare back, can feel it travel through his own chest, his own heart echoing hers by only a moment, steady beneath his rib cage.

Arching his back, Natsu rolls his shoulders slowly, then stretches his arms, being careful not to wake the sleeping woman beside him. The movement pulls at the stitching on his arm, and his eyes snap to the neat marks along his skin. He grimaces as he sees it, twin crescent shapes, nearly touching at the ends where the other Berserk's filed teeth latched on and _ripped_ at the muscle. The closed wound throbs, but Natsu hardly notices, much more enthralled with the twin curves of neat stitches left uncovered to breathe during the night.

Lucy did a good job, he notes, lips quirking fondly at the edges, better than he could have done. He's never had much practice with a needle and thread. Not for lack of want, of course, but he's never been in a place that allowed them. In the rings, in the King's army, wounds were left to fester and heal on their own, only treated if deep enough, but then only with scraps of cloth of the occasional ointment.

Natsu has only had stitches one other time, and that was for the silver reminder on his throat.

Sometimes he wishes they had just let him bleed out in the sand.

Lucy shifts behind him once more, as if she can hear his thoughts, and Natsu's lips twist upwards at the edges, pulling into the faintest of smiles. She was stern that afternoon when she fixed his arm, absolutely fierce, but not unkind. It was an odd moment, for such a little thing like Lucy to reprimand him the way she had. She was gentle, of course, but her words were firm, leaving no room for an argument.

" _Do you think I'm not?" he asked her, lips twisted into a bitter, angry smile. He hadn't meant to snap at her, but he was finding it harder and harder to keep his control. Something about the running, the fighting, it was playing games with his head, pulling at his last restraints until all of the bitterness and years of rage began to build up in his chest, threatening to spill over and rip straight through him._

 _Lucy's fingers squeezed his arm, grip firm but gentle as she anchored herself to him, nails pricking at his skin. Her hand had dropped from his face as the words tumbled from his lips, though her other rests firm against his cheek. She blinked up at him, eyes wide and lips parted just the slightest bit. Something flashed in her gaze, but it was gone before he could make out what it was. Anger, maybe. Sadness. Or perhaps something stronger than that, something that would rattle his bones._

 _A shaky breath reached his ears, but for a moment he wasn't sure if it was hers or his or maybe it was both. Her thumb stroked along his cheek, her lips twisted into a sad line as she stared back at him, eyes heavy with melancholy. He leaned into her touch and her absentminded fingers drew a path along his jaw, soothing him with light brushes of her fingers._

 _He was forced to meet her eyes as she tilted his head up, Natsu coming willingly._

 _She smiled when he looked at her, only for a moment and then it was gone. Her expression became fierce then, a light flickering in her eyes, making them appear brighter than usual. A sudden wind ruffled his hair, a Summer breeze and nothing more, almost a tickle. Her agitation was clear in the air, in the way it moved and seemed to curl its way around the both of them. The scent of stardust grew thicker in the air, almost suffocating as it burned at his lungs._

" _I know you're not," she told him, fingers squeezing at his upper arm, just enough so he felt it. He held her gaze then, and knew that it was an argument he could never win._

Cold toes bump against his calf once more, deliberate this time, and Natsu knows that she's awake. She probably has been for some time now, but thought he was still asleep. His lips quirk slightly, the ghost of a smile on his mouth, but he doesn't dwell on the thoughts for long. There are more important things to worry about. Most notably how long they've been here.

They've spent four nights in Jorah, and this will be Lucy's fifth day in the city. People have seen her, and by extension him, drifting through the streets. They've gained attention from the locals, if only a little, and he knows that isn't good. It'll be harder for them to slip away now. People know their faces, could recognize them if they needed to. It doesn't sit well with him.

"We shouldn't be spending so much time here," he murmurs to Lucy, keeping his voice low in case she is still asleep. He hasn't brought it up to her yet, how long they've been in one place, but they've spent far too long in this cursed city already. They should slip into the mountain pass when they get the chance.

The last time they lingered too long in one location they were practically ambushed, and he's in no condition for another fight so soon. Lucy, he knows, could handle herself fairly well against a Berserk, he's felt it himself how well she can fight. However, Lucy's fighting abilities aren't what he's worried about. It's the Berserks. He doubts they'll be so lucky as to run into only one Berserk again.

The King will have sent more after them, and if they know they're hiding in Jorah—

The sheets rustle as Lucy sits up, the blankets slipping down to pool in her lap, leaving his back cold as she shifts away from him. Natsu grumbles at the sudden chill, but otherwise doesn't react. "Nothing's come after us," she murmurs, voice thick with sleep. She shuffles on the mattress and a moment later he feels her leg press along the length of his spine.

Natsu hums in agreement, but locks his jaw regardless. He stares at the door, muscles tensing as he hears someone coming up the stairs. The stranger passes their room without pause, but he doesn't relax. "Nothing yet," he grumbles back, wetting his lips. Lucy's thigh presses harder against him, perhaps in annoyance, but he ignores it. "We should have left after the first night."

They should have, but they didn't. If they had left already they could have been out of the mountains by now, perhaps out of Pergrande entirely. They wouldn't have to worry as much then. The King wouldn't dare send his Berserks into Mithriel, not at the risk of starting a war. They should have left when they had the chance.

Lucy hums, though he can't be sure whether it's in agreement or not. "You needed rest," she reminds him, twisting around to place a hand on his side, the pads of her fingers soft as they slide along his ribs, her touch slow and gentle as she feels for cracks and breaks. "I know your chest still hurts." It comes out as a whisper, as if it's a secret to be kept close.

It very well may be.

Natsu merely snorts, shaking his head as best he can as Lucy continues to peruse his skin in search of damage. "My chest is fine," he growls, rough and throaty, though not unkind. Lucy ignores him and he huffs, pride more wounded than anything else. Her fingers press roughly against a rib and he yelps, surprised more so than hurt, but not for long. A dull throb comes from his bruised ribs, not nearly as bad as before, but enough to steal his breath for several moments.

Lucy clucks her tongue at him, unimpressed. "Liar," she calls him, but her fingers ghost along the same rib she pressed against, gentle this time, an apology of sorts. "Two more days, all right?" He's about to protest, but she lies the flat of her palm against his side, stilling him. "Just give yourself two more days."

He swallows down an immediate objection, lips pressing into a thin line as he mulls over their options, what little they have. His tongue swipes over his lips, wetting them, and for a long moment he merely listens to the sound of her breathing behind him, waiting for his response.

Finally, he sighs, shoulders relaxing under her touch. "What if we don't have two days?" he asks her, rolling onto his back slightly to look at her. Lucy's eyes meet his immediately, expression tired and grim, but more determined than he's ever seen before. She smiles at him, but it's tight, and he realizes she's just as nervous about staying here as he is.

"Than we'll figure something out," is all she says, hand sliding to his shoulder and giving him a short, sharp squeeze before releasing him entirely. She slips from the bed quietly, steps light against the wooden floor as walks around the bed and heads towards her bag, crouching to rummage through the sack, looking for something he can't begin to guess. There's simply too much in that bag for him to remember, though he always seems to find what he needs.

It's magicked, he knows, perhaps blessed by the Fae, he can never be quite sure. There are several means of obtaining low level magic. Blessings from Gods and other creatures are only one of them. There used to be higher levels of magic throughout the human population of Ishgar, but several of the ancient secrets have been lost with time.

According to legend, the Berserks were once able to summon their internal flames, pulling them through their skin and harnessing them in battle, a fiery hot rage that became tangible.

Igneel once claimed that he could do it, pull his fire into his fists, but Natsu never saw it. He simply figured that Igneel was making up stories, attempting to entertain him and some of the younger Berserks, give them something to smile about for once. It worked too, Natsu believed it for a time, but stories are just stories. Perhaps they could once summon fire, but not anymore. Those flames have been locked away beneath their skin, left to boil in their blood and in their bones, until rage, white hot and murderous, spills to the surface in mindless fury.

Natsu watches Lucy as she slips her boots onto her feet, humming to herself as she fiddles with the laces, looping and pulling them into a complicated twist.

"I don't like it here," he tells her, sighing through his nose. And he doesn't. The city smells like iron, the air thick and metallic, strong enough to choke him. It also smells like northern ice, more soothing than iron, but still enough to twist his stomach unpleasantly. He hasn't seen ice for years—real ice. Not the frost that nipped at his skin in the cellblock or the thin sheets that would harden the puddles on the floor.

Real ice is something magical, something he yearns to see once again.

Mostly though, he doesn't like the crowds in Jorah, the soldiers and the feeling of being watched. He hasn't been around so many people since his days in Fiore. Though the people of Jorah aren't jeering and calling for blood, he can't help but feel their eyes on him when he walks through the streets, vigilant and accusing.

They don't know what he is. If they did he would already be dead or worse. The only physical difference between them and the Berserks are the teeth. Natsu's canines are sharper, longer, but even that can be hard to notice. It's the armor that gives them away, the runes painted on their chests and the collars wrapped around their throats.

Lucy glances up from her task as she hears him speak, eyes sad as she looks at him, hearing his comment. Immediately, he knows that she had already guessed his feelings for the city. He made them abundantly clear before they even reached the city. "I know," she whispers, biting at her lower lip and turning away from him. "I know, but we can't risk you getting an infection." Her gaze locks on the stitched wound on his arm, worry creeping across her expression, but it only leaves him confused.

The wound is clean and closed. It should be fine.

Again, he thinks that something isn't right. One Berserk should not have been all that the King sent after them. By all logic, the King had two ideas of what happened in the woods when he realized Natsu wasn't coming back. Either Lucy killed him or he joined her. In either case, His Majesty wouldn't have dared to send just one Berserk after them. Likely not even a pair. Three at the least. But they were only attacked by one—

Natsu lurches upwards, inhaling sharply. The sudden motion pulls at his injured ribs, angering them greatly. "Valcanov," he swears viciously, both at the pain and the realization of what might be happening. A snarl tears from his throat and he sees Lucy still, her body tensing as lunges to his feet.

Lucy is quiet for a long moment as he stands in the center of the room, growling at nothing and acting stranger than usual. "My, you're in a bad mood this morning," she murmurs. Natsu can feel her eyes on his back, curious but also nervous.

He quiets himself, not wanting to scare her. "Something's not right," he growls, twisting around to look at her. Her eyes narrow, confused, and he swallows down a snarl building in his chest. "There should have been more than one," he tells her, taking several large steps forward until he's hovering over her, gaze darting around the room rapidly.

Her hands still against her bag, understanding immediately. "Do you think there's more?" she asks him, a nervous lilt to her voice.

"I think we're being played with," he snarls, fingers twitching at his sides as anger burns at his skin. No one leaves Jorah, not easily. That's common knowledge in Pergrande, even to the King's beasts. "I think they have us right where they want us" he tells Lucy. Trapped like rats with no where to go.

She inhales sharply, head snapping up to meet his eyes. "You think they've cornered us here." She says his thoughts aloud, and it does nothing to calm his nerves, only makes them worse.

Their only way between the mountains is through the West gate, any other would send them right into the Jernnas.

Natsu wets his lips, glancing down at Lucy, eyes hard. "Personally, I'd take my chances in the mountains," he tells her, low and soft. She stares up at him, silently asking what he wants to do. He considers demanding they leave, not wanting to waste extra time in this city, but her words from earlier make him pause. She's right, he knows. "We'll give it two more days," he tells her, pursing his lips, "but that's it."

She gives him a sharp nod, then stands suddenly, so close that her head nearly knocks against his chin. "Come on," she demands, holding out her hands for him to take. Natsu frowns, slipping his palms into hers and letting her pull him forward. He stumbles as he attempts to slip on his boots and a shirt all at once.

"Where are we going?" he asks her, rolling his eyes at the amused sound that spills from her as he slips again. Lucy yanks the shirt down over his head with ease, annoying him, but he stays quiet.

Her hands come back to his wrists, squeezing gently and pulling him forward once more, towards the door. "A walk."

* * *

They've been walking around for hours, from near dawn until the sun has dipped low in the sky, the sunset bleeding red and violet across the horizon. Lucy's walk turned into something much longer than either expected. Something short turned into weaving through the streets and shops in the city, searching for much needed supplies to get them through the harsh northern part of Mithriel. Food will be harder to come by in the blistering cold, and they were lucky enough to find a butcher willing to trade dried rabbit meat for a dozen small fire stones that were embedded in Natsu's armor. The stones themselves too small to be worth much unless used for jewelry, but the butcher was generous, offering twice as much meat as the stones were worth.

They must have looked desperate to the woman in the shop, she gave them a gentle, sad little smile as they left, wishing them well on their trip.

Natsu never did like pity, but he swallowed his anger down, knowing his pride wasn't worth more than their lives.

As the night begins to blacken the sky, Natsu guides Lucy into an alley, a hand against her back as she squeezes in close to his side, gaze darting around in search of passersby.

Lucy is in the middle of telling him a story about her brother's when Natsu hears the snap of a branch beneath a boot, the smell iron and sweat clinging to his nose, so thick he can almost taste it. Soldiers. And coming towards them. There's an agitation in the air, something buzzing around them that makes Natsu nervous.

Without thinking, Natsu twists and presses Lucy to the nearest wall, her surprised yelp swallowed by his shirt as he cages her against the stone walls of a pub. Her fingers twist into his shirt, nails biting into his skin, and Natsu's arms come up to swallow her, hiding her between his body and the wall. They disappear into the shadow of the building almost immediately, a pile of wooden barrels enough to shield them from anyone coming from the direction they were originally headed.

Lucy gasps against his throat, breath warm against his collarbone. "Natsu," she murmurs, a quiver in her voice, "what are you—" He cuts her off with a desperate hush, leaning in closer as the footsteps grow louder. Lucy hears them as well, her heart beating faster and her lips pressing against his skin to muffle any sounds she might make.

Natsu bites his tongue as well, unsure as to why he's reacted so violently. By all means, they could have continued forward. They wouldn't have been stopped, not when there's another hour before the town's curfew. They've walked passed the soldiers several times today, and none of them have spared the pair a glance other than to peek at Lucy when she isn't looking.

His stomach twists into knots, and Natsu doesn't remove himself from Lucy or the wall. She doesn't question him again, trusting him enough to wait.

A pair of soldiers appear, almost out of sight as they pause in the middle of the alley, only a few feet away from where Natsu has Lucy pressed against the wall. He can only just see them if he peeks around the barrels, but instead of staring he turns away, leaning further into Lucy and tilting his head to rest his cheek against her hair.

If they're caught, the guards may not accuse them of listening in.

Lucy seems to think the same, her arms winding around his back and her lips pressing against the side of his throat, breath warm against the scar on his neck.

"Tomorrow?" a soldier suddenly asks, Natsu's nerves prickling when he hears the new voice. It's quiet, barely loud enough for him to make out over the sounds of the pub before him. A good spot for talking, he can admit, but not good enough. "Are you sure?"

There's a sigh, then a shuffling sound, and Natsu squeezes his eyes shut as the voices come closer. "Yes, I'm sure," a second soldier replies, this one younger than the first, voice more lilting, not as beaten down and harsh.

A growl builds in Natsu's throat, rumbling in his chest, but Lucy's fingers rake against his side, quieting him.

The first soldier makes a snarling sound, clearly unimpressed with the affirmation from his companion. "But that's so soon," he murmurs. A scuffing sound reaches Natsu's ears, and the older guard spits something in a tongue Natsu is unfamiliar with, cursing something under his breath.

Lucy releases a shaky breath against his neck, his skin prickling as her warmth contrasts with the night's chill. Her heartbeat is loud beneath her bones, the sound echoing through his ears as he tries to listen to the guards, who have settled against the other side of the wall of barrels, figuring themselves a better spot to remain hidden, much like Natsu and Lucy.

Natsu wonders if they can hear her heart from where they stand.

There's a heavy stretch of silence between the men, but Natsu knows they haven't left. Lucy's stardust scent curls through his nose, familiar and sweet, but he can't will himself to relax.

"If we wait any longer the King will send—"

The older soldier cuts off the first, something malicious and bitter in his tone. "I know what the King will do, Jerret!" he spits at the younger man, who Natsu thinks must recoil, given the sudden shuffling sound. The elder guard spits, a thick, wet sound, and Natsu wrinkles his nose. "Better than you ever could," he finishes lowly.

The younger soldier, Jerret, sighs. The barrels creak as a weight is pressed against them, and Natsu allows a low rumble to slip from between his lips, too low for the men to hear, but enough for Lucy to pinch his hip beneath his shirt.

"Rowan," Jerret murmurs, a sad lilt to his voice, a sigh.

Rowan makes a pleading sound somewhere deep in his throat, desperation seeping through his words. "If we strike tomorrow, people will die," he tells Jerret, voice barely a whisper. Natsu has to strain to hear it.

Lucy twists against him, shifting to hear better. Natsu tries to pull back from her, giving her more room to move, but she merely holds him in place with a hand pressed low against his spine.

"If we wait," Jerret counters, a low hiss to his words, something urgent creeping into his tone, as if he's grown tired of the conversation, "people will still die." It comes out as a snap and the air between the soldiers remains heavy for several long tense moments.

Rowan doesn't relent. "We could evacuate," he suggests. "Or we could—"

Jerret cuts him off, frustration evident in the growl that stains his words. "We can't," he spits, "Bard says—"

Lucy gasps against his throat, growing very still against him. Natsu's eyes snap open, his head tilting to peer down at her, but he can't see her eyes. Her nails prick at his skin, but he can't ask in fear of them being caught. Instead, he raises a hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin absentmindedly as the guard's bicker.

"I don't care what Bard says," Rowan snarls.

A scoff comes from Jerret. "You should," he spits back. "He's the reason this is possible in the first place."

Natsu isn't sure what "this" is, but he's certain that he doesn't want to find out. Lucy leans into his hand, as if in agreement, but doesn't make a sound.

"We can't win this," Rowan argues, voice lower than before. Something defeated creeps into his tone, a sigh spilling from his lips. "There's so many of them," he murmurs, a quiver in his voice.

"Aye," Jerret agrees, softer than before. He sighs as well, a breathy sound that Natsu barely registers. "More than us." He pauses, mulling over his words, and Natsu can hear a wet crackle as the man wets his lips. "But we have something they don't," Jerret tells Rowan, seriousness creeping into his words.

Rowan snorts, unamused. He laughs suddenly, rough and bellowing, so loud that it makes Natsu's muscles tense, surprised. "What?" he scoffs, mirth in his voice, but it's sarcastic, bitter. "Bravery? Hope?" He laughs again. "What do we have, Jerret?"

"Anger." Rowan stops laughing at the other man's reply. Silence creeps upon them, and the dark alley feels utterly empty for several drawn-out moments. Lucy inhales deeply, her fingers curling through his shirt, and Natsu swallows, palms shaking against the wall before him. "That's something He can't take from us," Jerret says proudly.

Rowan isn't as convinced. "His beasts have anger, too," is all he says. Natsu flinches, recoiling into himself as the soldiers murmur something he can't hear before leaving the way they came.

Natsu releases a shaky breath as they disappear, his tense arms falling slack against his sides. He steps away from Lucy, who unwinds herself from him, her eyes blown wide as she stares up at him. Natsu can only stare back, unable to process what he's just heard.

A storm is coming.

* * *

 **AN: Edited 4/7/18**


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED: 4/14/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Natsu has been pacing for the better part of an hour, stalking from one end of their room to the other, strides long and purposeful as he growls and bares his teeth towards the closed door, as if waiting for soldiers to storm through. Lucy simply watches him, just as she has been for too many minutes, time lost to her as a low rumble tears from somewhere deep in Natsu's chest, low and warning and enough to make her hair stand on end. There's a board on the South side of the room, farthest from the door, that squeals when he steps on it, twisting on his heel to cross the room once more. His steps falter briefly on the North side of the room, his foot catching on a loose nail, not enough to make him fall, but enough for her to notice.

It's been hours since they heard the guards speaking, hours since Lucy felt like she couldn't breathe and the alley walls were collapsing in on her. Lucy knows what she heard in the alley, what they both heard. She knows what they meant, even if she would never admit it aloud. Something awful is going to happen, and they'll be caught right in the middle of it if they aren't careful. That's the last thing they need.

It took them what felt like hours to peel away from the wall and hurry back to their room. Neither said a word as they stumbled through the streets and into the Blue Moon. By the time they got back the sun was gone, swallowed by the darkness, with only a sliver of the moon to guide them.

If Lucy were to guess, she would say a new moon is coming, tomorrow, or perhaps the next day. She hasn't been paying as much attention to the night sky as she should be, the days have slipped away from her.

It's past midnight now, she can tell by the blackness of the night, by how bone-chillingly silent it is outside of their room. She wishes it weren't so quiet, not now.

Again, she watches Natsu stalk across the room, his footsteps harsh in the stillness of the night, steady as a beating war drum, something she fears may be on the horizon far quicker than either of them could have anticipated. He warned her, told her that this place was no good, that they should have left while they could. She shouldn't have been stubborn, but he was hurt and she couldn't help but blame herself for that.

She wanted him to recover, but she may as well have damned them both.

Natsu snarls low in his chest, his muscles flexing as he twists on his heel. The stitching on his chest pulls taut, threatening to snap and rip open the gash on his chest once more. Lucy winces, fingers twitching against her thighs. She only closed that wound an hour ago, hands steady despite her racing thoughts. Those stitches were the only thing keeping her calm, knowing that she couldn't make a mistake, least she hurt him.

Natsu began pacing almost immediately after she was done, lurching off the bed and stomping across the room, fuming.

For a while, Lucy was counting his steps, but she lost track after number four-hundred-and-seven. She didn't bother to start again, her head thick with thought, wandering to things far more precedent than the amount of steps he can take in an hour.

He stumbles on that nail again, and she sees those stitches pull and something inside her _snaps_. "Natsu," she starts, voice crackling from disuse, "calm down." He doesn't stop, wandering thoughts pulling him far away from her and this little room in the middle of a damaged, broken city. He makes another pass and her fingers twist against the blankets so tightly she's afraid they may rip. "Natsu!" she barks, voice demanding attention.

"What?" he snarls at her, whirling on his heel to face her, lips curved back over sharp teeth. A terrible sound rips from his throat, loud and cruel and something she never expected to come from him. She flinches without meaning to, suddenly remembering that terrible expression and those bared teeth, stark and white before they buried into her shoulder. He softens immediately, eyes apologetic as he stares down at her. His pacing ceases, and he takes a hesitant step forward, gauging her expression with watchful eyes. "Sorry," he murmurs, something like shame creeping into his voice, softer than before, gentle.

She waves him off, knowing he meant no harm. She trusts him, and while his anger startled her, she knows she has nothing to be afraid of. He could snap her neck with those big hands if he wanted to, but since the collar has come off, he's been nothing but gentle with her.

Lucy isn't afraid, not of him.

"Sit down before you pop a stitch," she tells him, sighing and patting the spot next to her. She eyes his bare chest wearily, lips pressed into a thin line as she watches his muscles flex and bunch and twist, each movement sending a jolt through her, making her teeth clench tighter as she waits for the thread to accidentally snap.

So help her, if he pops a stitch—

Natsu growls again, but it's softer this time, and she knows it's not directed towards her. His gaze is fierce when it locks with hers, but she matches it with her own defiance. His jaw clenches, teeth grinding together. "We don't have time for sitting, Lucy," he huffs, but he doesn't start pacing again.

She glares right back at him, head held high despite the war raging in her head. There's a dull ache in the back of her skull, and she fights off a wince. "Make time," she snaps back, Natsu's eyes widening is shock as he registers her words.

For a long moment, she thinks he's going to ignore her. Fine, she thinks, if he wants to hurt himself over something so painfully out of their reach who is she to stop him.

His tongue flicks across his lips, jaw set into sharp angles, eyes narrowed. Natsu sighs suddenly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He doesn't sit, but he does stop, and the stitches on his bare chest don't look nearly as ready to snap as they did a moment earlier. "Lucy—"

She doesn't let him finish, doesn't want to hear whatever his excuses are. "You're being rash," she tells him, a harshness to her tone that she barely recognizes. Natsu jolts, his eyes widening just the slightest, as if chilled by the icy edge to her words.

Lucy never has enjoyed speaking to others this way, she's only needed to do it a few times in her life, enough to count them on both hands, but she can't let him get ahead of himself. They need clear heads, not this panic that seems palpable. She can smell it in the air, taste it on her tongue.

He snorts, though his expression softens when he looks at her. "You heard the same thing that I did," he reminds her, voice firm, but gentle. His arms hang loose at his sides, fingers twitching in irregular intervals. She can practically see the tension in his shoulders, in his back and stomach. It makes her nervous, but she doesn't say this aloud, doesn't want him to know.

"We don't know what they meant," Lucy tells him, sighing as her head continues to pound, each word rattling her skull. Her teeth clench tighter, the aching in her arm and in her head making her feel foggy yet painfully awake. Everything is sharp and dull all at once and it confuses her, makes her stomach twist sickly.

Natsu scoffs, hands curling into fists. "Like hell we don't," he snaps back, though not altogether unkindly. His boot scrapes against the floor and Lucy's skin crawls, the sound making the hair on her arms prickle in discomfort.

She can't blame him for his sharpness, knowing she would be reacting in a very similar way given the chance, but one of them needs a level head at the moment. Lucy knows it's harder for him to control his temper, and she's always had a good head on her shoulders.

"And what did they say, Natsu?" she asks him, voice almost mocking as she stares him down. "Huh?" His gaze rips away from hers, embarrassed or nervous she can't be sure. "That a storm was coming?" Lucy shakes her head, a breathless little laugh spilling from her lips. She shouldn't be laughing, she knows, but there's something rather bitter about how indirect people can be.

Why bother speaking in riddles when no one is listening?

Natsu is shaking his head before she's even finished. "They said they were going to strike," he challenges, a strange fire burning in his eyes, deep green lit with a fury she's never seen before.

Lucy considers this, lips pressing into a tight, thin line. She doesn't know whose side any of them are on. There's no telling who is going to be struck down. And she tells Natsu this.

"Strike at what?" she asks him, voice coming out hoarse and thin. He pauses when she looks up at him, gaze tired and melancholy when it locks with his. "Each other? Us?" Lucy shakes her head, hands rising to smooth across her face. "Peg knows what you are," she reminds him gently, wetting her mouth before worrying her bottom lip. "What if someone else knows?"

Natsu doesn't answer her for a long, long time, but she can't say she was expecting him to. Her fingers press harshly against her temple, partly to soothe the ache building there and partly to distract from the aching everywhere else.

She needs to tell him about her arm. She's been meaning to do so for days, but now's not the right time. It's just never the right time.

"Who's Bard?" Natsu asks her suddenly, coming closer to kneel against the bed. His weight sinks into the mattress beside her, knee knocking against her own very briefly. He hesitates for a moment, then raises his own hand to her temple. His fingers chase away the ache and she sighs, curling her legs closer to her as he pulls away.

Dimly, she registers his questing, confusion swirling though her mind. Lucy turns to him, head tilting up to meet his gaze. "What?" she murmurs back, unsure what that has to do with anything.

Natsu swallows thickly, his throat bobbing harshly as he glances away from her, eyes snapping towards the door for several long seconds before sliding back to hers. "Bard?" he asks again, head tilting to one side as his brow furrows. "You made a sound when the soldiers said that name," he murmurs, sounding confused and frustrated, though Lucy can't be sure why.

Her own eyes narrow in thought. Had she? Lucy didn't notice. Honestly, she hasn't thought much about the soldiers from that first night, their memories shoved to the back of her mind, buried beneath everything else that's happened to the pair of them in recent days. She couldn't be bothered to remember an offhanded conversation with a man she would likely never see again.

Lucy considers her words carefully when she speaks, trying her hardest to recall their short conversation. "He was a guard at the gate when I came in," she tells Natsu, lips curving into a frown. He watches her expression closely, gaze sharp. "He talked to me while I was waiting for you." She glances up at him, but if the Berserker is surprised he hides it well. "He told me that—" she cuts off suddenly, inhaling sharply.

In that moment, Lucy realizes she's missed something crucial.

Her breath comes out ragged and she lurches from the bed, nearly tripping as her legs become tangled in the blankets. Natsu catches her as she stumbles, standing quickly and pinning her with a firm grip. Lucy doesn't fight him, doesn't move to pull away, though she does go eerily still.

A low, concerned sound rumbles in his chest and then hands come up to cup her face, tilting her face so that she meets his eyes. Natsu's calloused fingers briefly ghost over her skin and she shivers when she sees the steely look in his eyes. "Told you what?" he asks her, quiet and gentle, thumb warm at the corner of her lips. The words catch in her throat, all that leaves her mouth is a soft choking sound. His grip on her tightens. "Lucy, hey, what's wrong?"

She pulls from his grip suddenly, realizing she's done something very stupid, forgotten something very important because she was too distracted worrying about her friend. She should have paid more attention, should have listened a bit harder, asked more questions. She should have listened to Natsu when he said he wanted to leave.

"We need to leave," she tells Natsu, voice a broken whisper, but she knows he hears her by the way his muscles tense, his shoulders gone rigid. He doesn't move, however, and Lucy feels frustration build in her throat, a tight fist clamping down and squeezing. "We need to leave, now," she repeats, firmer this time, gaze holding his.

He considers her for a short moment, lips slightly parted and eyes blown wide, and so, so green.

She doesn't realize she's shaking until his hands curl around her shoulders, sliding down slowly until his thumbs are pressed against her inner-wrists, feeling her pulse race and holding her steady.

"Hey," he murmurs, head ducking down to meet her eyes. His fingers squeeze around her wrists gently, her skin cold beneath his large palms. "Hey, Lucy." She looks up at him again, panic soothed by his quiet words and gentle touch. She swallows down the lump in her throat, shoulders relaxing, and leans into him just the slightest. Her nerves stitch back together, and she sucks in a deep, shaky breath.

"They're going to revolt," she tells him, breathing the words in the small space between him, only for him to hear. He goes tense against her, inhaling sharply. Lucy wets her lips, wiggling one hand from his grasp so that she can play with his fingers absentmindedly. "The guards I ran into," she continues, pinching at his skin, "they were Mithrien."

A low growl spills passed his lips as he realizes what she means. They've both been fools for not realizing it sooner. People have been practically telling them to leave the city while they had the chance, but neither of them listened.

Lucy finds it bitter, has to choke back a laugh when she realizes it. She's escaped a tyrant king and survived a brutal attack by his Berserker, only to get the both of them trapped in the middle of a war. She's gotten them both stuck in the figurative spider's web.

Natsu's jaw clenches, she can hear his teeth grind together slowly, softly. "They're trying to take back Jorah," he murmurs, head tilting down to speak in her ear, so low she almost can't make out his words. "And the Jernnas." A civil war, she knows, is dangerous, especially this close to a border. The sides are more likely to destroy each other entirely than either side win.

There was a civil war in Fiore, once, when she was much younger. It happened in the Northern territory, a place called the firelands. It had been a slaughter. No one survived. Absolutely no one.

"They're starting a war," she murmurs back, eyes squeezing shut tightly. This is bad, very, _very_ bad. The soldiers sad tomorrow, but by now Lucy knows they have less than twenty-four hours to get out of this city, lest they become caught in the fighting. Trapped in this city.

They're half-way to Fiore, they can't become stuck here. She promised Romeo and Laxus she would come home. Lucy doesn't break her promises, not on her life.

Natsu rips away from her suddenly, practically lunging for the door. "We need to go." It's not a suggestion, it's a command. His footsteps are loud in the otherwise silent room as storms towards the door.

Lucy never has liked being told what to do. She lashes out before he can take more than a few steps, fingers curling tightly around his wrist before she yanks him towards her. Natsu stumbles, not expecting the sudden shift in balance, and blinks down at her rapidly, eyes wide. His expression goes soft, the rage melting away just as suddenly as it came.

She knows that his rapid shifts in mood should be more of a concern, but she figures they have more important things to worry about. She trusts Natsu to keep himself in check. And if he doesn't, she can very well do it herself.

"We can't leave now," she tells him, more gentle than she means to. He listens to her regardless of how firm she is, his lips pressing into a thin, unimpressed line, but he doesn't argue. "The gates will be locked." It's a reminder, one they both need.

She thought about it too, storming out and running, but it would be a fool's errand and they've mad enough mistakes for one night.

She watches as he considers this, his eyes narrowing in thought. They could climb the gate, but between his chest and her arm, Lucy doesn't know if they could make it. They could fight, but they would risk losing—risk being executed.

It's not worth the risk.

Natsu sighs, giving a jerky nod as he comes to the same conclusion as her. They're better off leaving early in the morning, slipping away before the fighting and disappearing into the mountain range.

"What if they win?" Lucy asks suddenly, gaze snapping up to meet his. Natsu stares right back at her, gaze confused. Lucy wets her lips. "What if they do take Jorah?" she asks him.

He winces, exhaling heavily through his nose. Natsu steps forward, his arm coming up to curl around her back and pull her close to his chest. She inhales sharply, not expecting the embrace, and goes very still when she feels his lips brush against her ear, hears him swallow loudly. "They won't keep it," he breathes against her.

* * *

The sun has barely begun to rise by the time Natsu and Lucy have pulled themselves out of bed, their gear packed and ready for them. The night was fitful, neither sleeping more than a few hours on and off. Lucy doesn't ask him, but she knows Natsu was awake for most of the night. She can tell by the darkness under his eyes, his skin a shade paler than it should be. He looks at her and she can see exhaustion.

She wants to think it's foolish of him to have stayed awake for so long, but she's not much better. At one point in the night she rose, pacing the room much as Natsu had only hours earlier.

Lucy doesn't know if he was awake then, but she's glad he didn't try to stop her.

They left before Peg could notice, slipping out the door when she wasn't watching. Their trip to the West gate went quickly, the pair of them winding through the streets unnoticed so early in the day.

The sun rose slowly, and Lucy tried to ignore how red the sky was bleeding.

They make it to the gate in silence, Lucy eyeing the single guard wearily as they come closer. He's tall, taller than Natsu, but thinner in the shoulders. She knows better than to underestimate him though, and her skin crawls when she thinks about what happened back in Ðüskell. Lucy's lips press into a thin line as she watches the soldier, his gaze flicking between her and Natsu rapidly, a lazy smile on his lips.

She could take him, she thinks. She's not afraid of a single soldier, not anymore.

Natsu's palm is warm against her back as he guides her towards the gate, his fingers twitching against her spine as the guard stares at them blatantly. Lucy's own hands are shoved deep into her pockets, as far from her knives as she can keep them. They don't need to give this guard a reason to stop them, not when they're in so much of a rush.

Natsu's hand slides around her back, fingers squeezing her hip slowly. Lucy glances up at him and they share a brief look. He nods when he meets her eyes, jaw clenched tightly, and tucks her closer into his side. Lucy lets him, breathing easier as she feels his warmth against her left side.

She curls closer, making a home against his torso, and hopes they don't look as suspicious as she feels they do.

They're halfway through the gate when the guard moves, a heavy, metal pike hovering before Natsu's throat. He jerks to a stop, grip tightening around her, and the breath rushes from Lucy's lungs, pure, nauseating fear clawing at her throat. Her gaze snaps to the guard, terrified, but his gaze isn't malicious, only firm.

"No one leaves," he tells them, voice a deep timber that racks down Lucy's spine. He stares at them, hair falling into his blank eyes, and the pike edges closer to Natsu's skin. The sharp point makes an indent in his flesh, but doesn't draw blood.

Lucy jerks him back, ripping Natsu away from the weapon, and settles in front of him. The guard blinks down at her, but appears unconcerned as he lowers the weapon to her own throat. Behind her, Natsu snarls, grip bruising on her waist. She ignores him, leveling the guard with her own fierce stare, which makes him pause, though only briefly.

"And why, pray tell, would that be?" she asks him, keeping her tone even. If her words wobble, the guard either doesn't notice or simply doesn't care. A low growl rumbles behind her, but Lucy jabs at Natsu with her elbow.

He huffs, but goes quiet. His free hand drifts down to her thigh, fingers brushing against her bare skin before finding a knife, though he doesn't pull it out. Natsu holds her there, glaring at the guard and fingering her knives, waiting for a wrong move.

The guard considers them for a moment, but doesn't lower his weapon. "Orders of His Majesty," he replies after several painfully long seconds. He purses his lips, dark eyes beseeching as he glances over the both of them. Again, Lucy skin crawls. His golden armor glints in the morning light, and he lowers his weapon slowly, drawing it away from Lucy's skin.

Natsu relaxes against her back, the tension draining from him as soon as she's not being threatened. Lucy hand seeks out his, fingers brushing against the back of his hand slowly, reassuringly.

"On what grounds?" Lucy demands, glaring up at the guard, her anger beginning to spill through. There should be no reason for them to be forced to stay here, absolutely none. And especially not on the order of a King nearly a thousand miles away. His reach barely extends this far West, not anymore.

Lucy remembers the first night, Bard and the other man telling her about the increase in soldiers. She begins to wonder whether this rebellion was caused by the influx in soldiers, or if perhaps it's the other way around.

The guard's glare turns menacing and Lucy flinches back. Natsu begins to snarl again.

"None that concern you," he replies evenly, no frustration seeping into his words. For a moment, Lucy is impressed. She would never be able to school her expression like that, not even if she practiced. Laxus has always said that she carries her heart in her eyes, brandishing her emotions for all to see. "No one gets in or out," the man finishes, evidently bored with the conversation.

Before Lucy can argue again, another man steps up, one that Lucy recognizes. "Yorrik!" the younger guard from the first night calls as he steps up behind Natsu and Lucy. He ignores them completely as he clasps the other man—Yorrik, evidently—on the shoulder. "Your shift is done." There's a quiet exchange that Lucy can't hear, and then Yorrik nods and walks away, heading back into the city without a second glance.

The unnamed guard turns towards them, sighing. He glares at Lucy, though his expression isn't altogether unfriendly. "You should have left when you had the chance," he tells her, voice only a hiss.

Lucy frowns, glaring right back at him. "Why don't you let us out _now_?" she asks him, a cold edge to her words. She thinks this is a bit ridiculous. This isn't their war. They have the opportunity to let people leave, but they aren't doing anything. They can save people, but they aren't. Lucy realizes that last night.

Men, she's come to realize, are willing to start wars over just about anything, but they're all cowards. When given the opportunity to save lives, they'll just turn their backs and continue the fight. It's pathetic.

The guard doesn't budge. "On the orders of His Majesty, no one gets in or out of the Black Gates of Jorah," he recites calmly, looking almost bored as he stares down at her.

Lucy scoffs, sneering up at him. "I didn't pin you for a Centari soldier," she mocks, satisfaction flooding through her when he flinches back, the words cutting into him deeply. She knows he's from Mithriel, knows her words are an insult, she just doesn't give a damn.

His jaw ticks and he snarls at her, taking a half-step towards her, only to still when Natsu snarls at him, tone a low warning. Instead, he barks out a laugh, smile cruel as he stares at her. "Didn't pin you for a—" he cuts off suddenly, glancing at Natsu behind her, eyes narrowed in thought, "what does your kind call them?" he asks, "Skidjøte?"

Lucy knows it's an insult even before Natsu reacts. It sounds dirty when the man says it, and Lucy prickles, anger sparking in veins. Natsu unwinds from her immediately, slipping around her with a threatening snarl and lunging for the guard, teeth bared and eyes murderous.

She catches him quickly, stilling him with a hand pressed to his chest, coming to stand between them. "Don't," she snaps at him, shoving him backwards when he resists. "Natsu, don't!" He stops fighting her, but continues to growl and snap.

The guard sneers. "Best hold him back, Miss," he tells her, glaring back at Natsu. "I would hate to run him through." His own pike glints in the light, flashing threateningly.

Lucy gives Natsu one final shove, sending him stumbling back a step. She whirls on her heel, stare demanding as she looks at the soldier. "Let us through," she spits, jaw clenching tightly. "We aren't part of this." This isn't her damn war, and it's not Natsu's anymore either.

"You are now."

Her eyes squeeze shut tightly, hands curling into fists at her sides. "Please," she tries again, desperation clawing at her throat.

She just wants to go home.

He considers her for a long moment, gaze traveling the length of her body slowly. Lucy cringes internally, but holds herself firmly. "I'll make you a deal," he tells her, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth, the words sarcastic and biting. "Take off your clothes, and I'll let you walk through the gate."

Natsu snaps, but Lucy is faster. Her hand cracks across the guard's face, nails raking over his skin and drawing thin lines of blood. He cries out, stumbling backwards, but Lucy doesn't bother to watch. She twists back around, catching Natsu's hand in hers and dragging him away without a word.

They'll find their own damn way out of Jorah.

* * *

 **AN: Edited: 4/14/18. I should be able to post another chapter tonight, and maybe one or two tomorrow. I've gotten to the point where I'm only really looking for grammatical errors, as there isn't much plot wise that still needs heavy editing, so chapters should be coming faster from here. At least, until I start finals in a few weeks.**


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 4/14/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Seventeen**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Natsu lets her drag him away, her hand tight around his, nails pricking at his skin uncomfortably. He doesn't tell her to let go, despite the prickle of pain, only squeezes back twice as hard, gentle enough not to hurt her as she tugs him away from the mountains and the gate and the guard that Natsu wants to rip to pieces. But he doesn't, he just lets her lead him away, overwhelmingly grateful that she stopped him earlier. He knows he would have done something awful if she hadn't gotten between them, something he knows he would have regretted.

It was foolish of her to get between a Berserk and their target, but he figures she knows that already, so he won't bother lecturing her. Besides, she still has the bruises to show for the last time he got angry and she was there, he wouldn't be able to look at himself if he did it a second time.

Despite his relief at not doing something he'd regret, Natsu can't help but want to turn around and do what he intended. For that guard to call her _that_ , to insult her in that way, makes his blood boil. He wanted to hit him—wanted to do _worse_ than hit him, but he can't let his temper get the best of him. Not when innocent people are around.

Natsu growls low in his throat, having half a mind to turn around, but thinking better of it. Besides, Lucy can handle herself, she's made that _very_ clear. Three times now, in fact. She managed to steal from the King of Pergrande, not an easy feat in itself. The city must have been crawling with soldiers, but she made it miles without being caught. That's something to be proud of. She held her own against him, something he admires her for. He couldn't feel anything at the time, because of the collar and his rage, but she fought through the pain, putting up one hell of a fight. His jaw still smarts from where she clocked him, if only when he moves the wrong way. And just now, not only did she mange to hold him back with one hand and a firm word, so also sent a heavily armed man twice her size stumbling with a single hit.

There's something special about her, he's beginning to notice. It's not her faint magic or the wind that seems to stir around her, but the fierceness behind her smile, behind her eyes. It's the undeniable bravery that she seems to radiate.

It's almost amusing, in a way. His first friend in years and she's a spitfire, maybe even worse than him when he was younger. Natsu was a troublemaker before they beat him down, a hellion, Igneel called him once, and he can feel that part of him wanting to crawl out of his skin.

He follows behind her until she settles, her grip on him slackens, though only slightly, but her heart keeps racing. He can hear it beating, loud and angry in its pounding. She rounds on him suddenly, getting right into his face in a way that would make him snap if it were anyone else.

"What did he call me?" she demands, honey eyes flashing with something dangerous. He goes rigid at the question, mouth going dry as it registers in his mind. He shakes his head slowly, jaw locking. Lucy's glare sharpens, gaze locking with his and leaving no room for an argument. After a moment, her eyes soften, though not by much. "Natsu, what did he call me?" she asks again, the ferocity leaving her words.

Her thumb brushes along his knuckles soothingly, and Natsu considers telling her, knowing she has a right to know, but the words stick in his throat. He doesn't like the way they sound, doesn't like the way they taste on his tongue, and, indirect as it would be, he refuses to call her those names. There's something vile and degrading about them, and he won't— _can't_ —tell her what they mean.

Skidjøte is nothing more than a disgusting word. It doesn't translate well into any tongue, the closest it comes in meaning is that of calling someone a filthy whore. It could be worse, he knows, but there's a certain connotation to it when used by non-Berserks, and Natsu doesn't like the implication.

Because the guard didn't just call her a whore, he implied that she was _Natsu's_ whore, and that's something he won't stand for. The people of Pergrande consider Berserks to be less than human, less than _animal_. To say that Lucy is even _less_ than that.

A snarl rips from his throat and Lucy takes a half step back, releasing his hand. She breathes his name, so soft he almost doesn't hear her, but it snaps him out of his thoughts in an instant. Her eyes are wide when he looks at her, concerned but not afraid.

"Don't—" he tells her softly, keeping his voice low though not unkind. He chokes off, swallowing thickly and grinding his teeth. He has to look away from her for a long moment, not wanting to snap. His hands clench and unclench rapidly, an itch in his bones that he doesn't recognize. Sighing, he turns back to her, eyes pleading. "Don't make me say it out loud," he murmurs.

Lucy stares at him for several seconds, eyes searching his. She nods after a moment, gaze going soft. "Okay," she tells him, giving him another nod and a shaky smile. "Okay." She turns on her heel without another word, continuing to walk back into town. Natsu follows after a moment, easily matching her pace. "You know," she tells him, changing the subject, "when I stole the necklace I had to—"

He cuts her off. "Don't," he says again, a sour taste in his mouth. He hasn't put much thought into how she got it back, knowing it must not have been pretty. Natsu doesn't know how far she would go, but imagining it leaves a sick feeling in his stomach. "You don't need to tell me," he murmurs, both for her sake and for his. She doesn't owe him an explanation and he doesn't think he wants any of his thoughts to be confirmed.

She ignores him, continuing as if he hadn't said anything, though she does edge around the topic. "His guard's weren't very smart," Lucy tells him, peeking up at him from the corner of her eye. "They let me walk right in." She grins and Natsu snorts, huffing a small laugh.

"Must be suckers for a pretty face," he says, glancing down at her with a small smile. Her eyes seem to brighten when they meet his. "What did you do?" he asks softly, curious by leery.

Her smile is secretive, mischievous, and it pulls at something in his gut. "Crushed jasmine and a sleeping spell," she whispers, as if it's a secret only for him.

Stumbling, Natsu is startled into a laugh. Jasmine—especially the hybrid cousin from Fiore—can knock even the largest of men flat in only a few seconds, and that's with only a small dose. A Fae spell would only enhance that. The King wouldn't have had a chance. Lucy tricked him, made a fool of him for thinking her harmless. The King should have known better than that. No one who would dare walk into Ðüskell on their own volition is harmless.

He wonders if that's why he was ordered to kill her, but doesn't linger on the thought.

Natsu stops suddenly, Lucy turning back to look at him, her head tilting to one side in a silent question. Her amusement dims after a moment, Natsu staring at her in silent awe. She says nothing, lips twisting into a frown. He sends her a soft smile. "You're brilliant," he tells her, meaning it wholeheartedly, "you know that?" He doesn't think he's ever met someone quite so resourceful.

Her eyes brighten, but her lips don't curl back into a smile like he was hoping. She holds his gaze for a long moment. "We'll get out of here," she tells him, his eyes narrowing at the sudden change in topic. Lucy doesn't appear to notice, once again looking away from him and continuing the way they were going.

"How do you know that?" he asks, foot stuck to the ground as she gets farther and farther away. She doesn't stop, doesn't look back, and Natsu has the sudden thought that she's looking for a chase.

Her hair swishes against her back, loose and tangled, sloppy braids coming undone. "Because we've both been through worse," she calls back to him, tossing him a look over her shoulder, eyes bright with something unfamiliar.

Natsu frowns, finally forcing his feet to move. He catches up to her quickly, staring down at her in bewilderment. "Do you have a plan?" he asks, wetting his lips. He hopes so, because his best idea is to bolt as soon as they have the opportunity, which is less of a plan and more of a vague spontaneous idea.

Her grin turns feral, absolutely wicked when she looks at him. "Wait for the fighting," she tells him simply, baring her teeth, "then run like hell."

Natsu barks out a laugh, eyes flashing with excitement.

* * *

Natsu growls low in his throat when he sees movement out of the corner of his eyes, it's quick, a flash of steel, but it's enough to gain his rapt attention. He eyes the man across the pub wearily, lips pulling back over his teeth when the man spins the blade between his fingers, gaze trained on the door, waiting for something to happen. _Anything_.

Waiting for a war.

Dusk has settled around them, the bar loud and merry, people dancing and laughing, none knowing what's bound to happen tonight. His chest aches for them, wondering how many will die tonight, wondering how many know about the fight but have resigned themselves to smiling and putting up a front. He doesn't like it, it feels wrong, like wearing those collars, but almost worse. This time, he only has himself to blame for the things he's doing.

The man stands suddenly, and Natsu is quick to follow. Lucy's head snaps up at his sudden movement, eyes wide and almost nervous. She's faster than him, hand lashing out to catch him by the elbow before he can storm off. She doesn't say anything, but he can see the concern in her honey eyes, the confusion. He shakes her hand off, but reaches out to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Natsu's eyes lock with hers and he tries to send her a reassuring smile, but it comes out strained, more of a grimace than anything else. "I'll be right back," he promises her, leaning down to whisper the words against her ear.

Lucy doubtful, but nods slowly, trusting him enough to keep his word. His chest squeezes at the amount of faith in her eyes, and he lets his hand slide up to her neck, fingertips light against her skin as his thumb brushes against her jaw. She leans into him, so slight he almost doesn't notice, and sends him a small smile.

He pulls away from her quickly, spinning on his heel to follow the man with the knife. He's trouble, Natsu knows it, he just doesn't know how much. Natsu trails him easily, not losing sight of him, despite the crowded room. He doesn't go far, only a few tables away from where he originally sat, but he settles into a table with three other men, all with grime faces and decorated with thin, leather armor, much different than the shining gold used by Pergrande.

Natsu's eyes narrow as he notices something curled around each man's wrist. A scarf, he thinks, soft and very blue, so dark it looks almost black.

Mithriel's colors, he realizes after a moment. The men are freedom fighters, all of them.

His throat constricts suddenly, the man with the knife looking up to meet his gaze. Natsu sends him a slow nod, swallowing thickly.

Natsu holds his gaze for a long moment, waiting for the man to react, but he never does. Instead, his eyes rip away from Natsu's a sudden, terrified scream tearing through the air. For a long moment, nothing happens. The pub goes silent, Natsu holds his breath, a shiver snaking its way up his spine. Then, the sound of a low horn splits through the silence, low and eerie.

It's a single note, simple enough, but Natsu is intelligent enough to know what it means, despite not being familiar with it.

Everything happens at once.

The men lurch from the table, weapons drawn, and in the time it takes Natsu to blink there's already blood being shed. People start screaming panicking, and Natsu stumbles backwards when a man shoves him aside. He smells smoke, the thick, black kind that comes just before a wicked fire.

Gold glints in the firelight, soldiers of Pergrande swarming the room and slashing at leather and blue cloth. And there's blood, so much blood, and it fills his nose and mouth until he chokes on it. It makes him dizzy and he stumbles back another step, breathing heavily.

He can feel the thrill of the fight pulling at him, but he shoves it back, grinding his teeth together and shaking his head, eyes squeezing shut. They need to get out of here. He needs to find Lucy— _Lucy_. His snap open, raw fear clawing at his throat when he remembers she's somewhere across the room.

Panicking, Natsu spins around, only to narrowly miss being impaled by a sharp pike. He catches the metal shaft in his fist, the metal tip barely grazing against the outside of his arm, and snarls at his assailant. He sees gold and allows himself to react violently. Moving fast, Natsu yanks the soldier towards him, roaring as he catches the man by his throat. He barely hears a scream as he swings them around, tossing the soldier against the nearest wall, a sick satisfaction crawling through him when he hears a sharp _crack_.

The man doesn't get up, but Natsu doesn't care. He whirls around, lips pulled back over his teeth, and shoves his way through the crowd, snapping and snarling at anything in his path. He avoids the fighting when he can, but doesn't shy away from the blood when it comes near him.

His bones practically hum, excitement coursing through his veins that eagerness to fight rearing it's head. A beast claws at his belly, aching to be let out, but he refuses to let it. He can fight later, can let the beast and the anger control him some other time, but not now, not when they need to leave. He won't abandon Lucy for the sake of quelling the sick thirst for fighting inside him.

Natsu's hip slams against the table they were sitting at, but Lucy is gone, their things gone, and he can't even smell her, the air is so thick with violence. He searches for a wisp of stardust, but finds nothing, only blood and sweat and rage—so intense it almost bowls him over.

It isn't the synthetic rage of the King, or the bloodlust of the Berserks, but something else, something created from one-hundred years of bitterness and hatred, something left to stew for too long, inevitably leading to it spilling over.

The people of Jorah have a hated so fierce that Natsu can _smell_ it.

He spins around, desperately calling Lucy's name, head snapping around as he searches for blonde hair in the sea of darkness storming through the pub. He can't find her, and suddenly it's like a fist is wrapped around his throat, like he's choking again, just like when he fought the other Berserk only a few days ago. He can't breathe, can barely _think_ , everything is happening so fast.

He hears a scream from his right and twists to face it, meeting the eyes of a man with a short-sword raised high above his head, the blade angle to kill. Natsu's eyes widen, the breath catching in his throat, and the blade is about to swing down when he hears a sick _thwack_.

The soldier stumbles, eyes wide as he coughs suddenly. Blood leaks from the corner of his mouth, slow at first, but then it comes in great gushes. The man chokes, an arrow lodged in his throat. He staggers, legs buckling beneath him, and starts to fall. His hand lashes out, fingers wrapping around the thin shaft of the arrow gently before ripping it from the man's flesh.

Blood splatters across his face and chest, but Natsu doesn't react when the soldier hits the floor, seizing.

He snaps around, holding the arrow delicately, and meets honey eyes and wild blonde hair. She's a mess and there's blood on the side of her face, but she's alive and mostly unharmed, which makes him relax, if only for a moment. "Natsu," Lucy breathes his name, a similar relief in her own eyes. She drops her arm to the side, bow clenched in her fist.

Natsu inhales sharply, legs moving quickly. He reaches her side in an instant, arm looping around her waist as he jerks her forward. She's tugged into his chest, Natsu not giving either of them a moment to breathe as he starts stumbling towards the door, shoving at people in his way. "We need to leave," he growls, just loud enough for her to hear over the fighting. "Now."

She nods sharply, and then suddenly it's Lucy pulling him towards the door, lither frame better weaving between bodies than his ever could. She slips away from him briefly, but her hand shoots back to wrap around his wrist before she can be swallowed by the crowd. She pulls him towards her, sparing him a quick glance as she drags him along.

It's worse when they get outside. They shove open the door, spilling out into the open air and cobblestone paths, only to be hit with the smell of burning flesh. Natsu gags at the smell, bile rising in his throat, and tugs Lucy against his side once more. The ground is littered with bodies: men, women, children, some of them soldiers, but most not. All burned, warped beyond recognition, and Natsu can't begin to understand how they burned so much so fast. He can see bones beneath the blackened, charred skin, flesh peeled away and muscles warped.

Lucy shivers against his side, and Natsu shakes his head, yanking her away from the bodies and the smell, staggering towards the West gate and pulling her along behind him. Lucy comes willingly, matching his speed as the two wind through the streets.

They don't run into much trouble, managing to slip by the guards and the soldiers, avoiding the bloodbath.

He hears a snapping sound, a snarl, and yanks Lucy close to his chest, the collides with him roughly, stealing his breath, but Natsu ignores her mumbles questions, gaze darting around the bloody streets. Her hand fumbles against his, and Natsu curses, shoving her away from him just as a body crashes into his back, sending Natsu and his attacked tumbling to ground. Lucy screams his name, but it's drowned out by the sound of roaring in his ears.

Natsu knows what it is before he opens his eyes: _Berserks_.

His lips pull back over his teeth, a terrifying snarl rumbling through his chest. Blood and dirt and fury cloud his senses and he swings back with his elbow, bone colliding with something that snaps when he hits it. The weight slips from his back and Natsu rolls, lashing out with his foot as soon as he sees blue eyes and a gold collar, red gem glinting in the low light.

It's dark, no moon to light the sky, the perfect time for a surprise attack.

His fist slams into the other Berserks jaw, a crack splitting the air as Natsu feels bones shatter, his or the other Berserk's, he can't be sure. A yelp rips through the air, but Natsu doesn't dwell on it, other hand swinging forward to through the other Berserk back. He rolls several feet, but he's faster than Natsu, not so heavily injured.

Pain wracks his skull as his head is slammed into the ground, a snarl coming from above him. Black spots dot his vision, snapping teeth stark and white against the backdrop of darkness. Saliva drips onto his face and he struggles to shove the other Berserk off, but his limbs feel heavy, the stitches in his chest pulling tightly and threatening to snap.

There's movement in the corner of his eye, and then the weight is gone from his chest, a crack and then a shriek of pain splitting the air. He blinks and suddenly Lucy is hovering over him, yanking him off the ground in a hurry. Natsu follows blindly, allowing her to pull him up and lead him away.

Something crackles behind him and he shakes off Lucy's hand, turning back to face the Berserk closing in on them. He doesn't look at Lucy when she grabs at him again, merely shifts so she can't touch him. The other Berserk stands, a bruise rapidly spreading across his jaw, and Natsu realizes Lucy must have hit him with her bow like she did to him. He knows from experience how much it stings, but he also knows that right now the Berserk can't feel a thing.

"Natsu," Lucy murmurs, placing a soft hand against his shoulder. The berserk eyes them both, and Natsu snarls, forcing Lucy back a step, hiding her behind his larger frame. A jolt goes down Natsu's spine as he sees the utterly blank eyes of the other berserk, hints of anger spilling into the vacant eyes. Natsu sees something that startles him: a nothingness.

He looked like that, too, once.

"Lucy, go," he mumbles, pressing a hand to her hip and shoving her away. She gasps, stumbling, and Natsu momentarily feels guilty. But he remains firm, gaze locked on the other Berserk, eyes determined.

She ignores him, snarling a "no!" right back at him, and something like pride pulses in his chest, but behind that is a lingering fear. He turns briefly, whirling on her, and finds her already looking up at him, eyes hard and colder than anything he's ever seen. They flash at him, and he can feel the wind picking up, slow, but noticeable. His jaw clenches, teeth grinding together. "Lucy—" he starts, but something in her eyes makes him pause, something determined and regretful.

Natsu realizes she must have hated herself for leaving him behind last time, almost as much as he hates himself for hurting her before.

"Okay," he tells her, giving a jerky nod. "Okay."

She's covered in dirt and blood and he thinks he can see a bruise forming on her cheek, but she sends him a small smile that could only be described as beautiful and fierce. That's when he knows she doesn't need him to protect her, but he'll do it anyway, for as long as he can. A smile like that is something worth protecting.

The other Berserk lunges, and Lucy has an arrow nocked before he can blink. She releases, the arrow flying down the street, and Natsu's head snaps around in time to watch it become embedded in flesh, a shoulder hit. She can't make a kill shot, not with the collar in the way, and Natsu doesn't know what to do. They don't have time for a brawl, and the Berserk won't stop unless they kill him.

He stumbles forward, still coming despite the wound in his arm, and Natsu lashes out with his foot, knocking the Berserk back and sweeping his legs out from beneath him. He snarls at them, bellowing in rage, as he rips himself off the ground. Natsu barely has enough time to duck to the side, narrowly missing a blow to the head. He growls back, slamming his shoulder against the other Berserk and sending him skittering back.

Again, the Berserk lunges, but there's a flash of steel, a pike embedding itself deep into the Berserk's stomach, ripping through his uncovered torso and twisting. He's thrown to the side, the pike ripped from his stomach with sick, wet sound.

There's a man there, tall and middle-aged, beard grizzly and matted with blood and dirt, eyes dark as he stares at Natsu. No, _passed_ Natsu. Natsu growls, feeling Lucy behind him, her hand steady against his arm. She squeezes suddenly, a soft gasp coming from her, and Natsu fidgets, unsure if the man is an enemy or not.

"Bard," she whispers, Natsu recognizing the name immediately. He doesn't relax, however, eyeing the bloody pike with distaste. The man reacts to the sound of his name, and he manages a rough smile, nodding at her shortly. He doesn't look at Natsu at all, almost as if he isn't there.

Bard wets his lips, then spits out blood. "I'll 'andle them, Lass," he tells Lucy, giving her a jerky nod, gaze slipping to the stunned Berserk. "You best be goin'," he grumbles, raising his pike defensively as the Berserk stands slowly, shaking his head and blinking rapidly.

Natsu stares in disbelief, shaking his head slowly. He's never seen a human kill a Berserk before, they just keep coming, nothing stops them unless their heart or lungs give out. "You won't last ten minutes," he tells Bard suddenly, not meaning for the words to come out. The man's eyes snap to Natsu, cold, though not malicious.

He quirks a brow, head tilting to one side in thought. His eyes drift to Lucy for only a moment before snapping back to Natsu. " 'ow long did she last?" he asks casually. Lucy flinches and Natsu snarls, taking a threatening step forward and shoving back the shame in his heart. Lucy grabs his hand, soft touch calming him, though only momentarily. He growls at Bard, who snorts. "Don't underestimate us, Lad," he snaps. "You could snap our necks, yes, but ya bleed just like the rest o' us."

There must be a question in their eyes, wondering how he knows what Natsu is, but Bard merely shrugs, unconcerned. "Peg doesn't keep secrets," he tells them, turning his back to them and facing the Berserk, coming between them. "Not from me."

Natsu takes the opportunity to edge Lucy back, away from the fighting, keeping her close to his back. "Why are you helping us?" he finds himself mumbling, eyes narrowed at the other man. He doesn't understand it, Bard, Peg, even Lucy. They all know what he is, what he can do, but they act like he's not some kind of beast.

Bard snorts, barking out a laugh that's not at all friendly. "I'm not," he tells them, rolling his shoulders. "Now git," he snaps, lunging for the Berserk.

Natsu doesn't hesitate as he spins around and grabs Lucy by the arm, bolting down the street in a hurry. She matches his speed, but slips when they round a corner, crashing into his side. He steadies her with one hand, but doesn't slow as they head west. Natsu only prays that the gate is unmanned. He won't be kind to anyone that gets in his way.

The sounds of fighting grow quieter, and Natsu tries not to think of Bard left behind, or Peg and her broom and sharp tongue. He didn't know either of them, not really but there's something bitter about thinking they could die tonight. They weren't his friends, he'll probably never think of them again or remember them within a few short weeks, and that leaves a strange taste in his mouth.

He shoves the thought away, feeling Lucy's fingers curl through his. She overtakes him, legs moving faster than he would have guessed. He supposes it's a miracle he caught up with her in the first place, she was likely only slowed by her ankle. He glances down at her leg, concern flashing in his eyes. She seems fine now, but he doesn't know how long her leg will hold.

Something moves on his left, and Natsu releases Lucy's hand, coming to a sudden halt and whipping around. His hand wraps around skin, and he slams a body against a building, hearing a wet, choked gasp. His eyes narrow, a growl in his throat, and suddenly he recognizes the man as the guard from the gate, the one that insulted Lucy.

His hand squeezes tightly, intentionally, and Natsu's lips curve back over his teeth, baring them at the other man. His eyes spark with fear at Natsu's snarl, and he considers snapping the man's neck. It would be easy, Natsu thinks he deserves it for what he said.

Satisfaction curls through his stomach when he sees a red welt on the man's face, Lucy leaving her mark on his skin. He squeezes tighter and the man wheezes, clawing at his wrist.

His thoughts go cloudy, the man's pulse racing beneath his fingers, and the anger inside him grows, threatening to spillover into a frenzy.

Arms curl around him, stilling him. Lucy rests a hand against his stomach, her forehead pressed between his shoulders. For a long moment she says nothing, just holds him loosely. She takes a step back, arms still around him, and Natsu follows her, grip slipping from the other man.

"Natsu, let him go," she murmurs against his ear. "Let him go."

He does, and Lucy's hand finds his as they run through the black gates of Jorah, disappearing into the mountains and leaving the city to burn behind them.

* * *

 **AN: Edited 4/14/18. I'll likely post two or three updated chapters tomorrow. Evidently, I stopped including ANs in my word docs at some point, so those are all gone. Oops.**


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 4/15/18 Minor changes throughout.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Eighteen**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Natsu's shoulder bumps against hers when he slides down beside her, armor making a low grinding sound as it scrapes against the rock behind them. She doesn't look at him, just keeps staring across from where they sit, gaze locked on the solid rock before them. The wind howls as it whips by, ruffling Lucy's hair. It catches on her lips, but she barely notices, expression blank as she stares and stares, heedless of the biting cold that's surrounded them sometime during the night.

The fire flickers, beginning to burn low, and beside her, Natsu sighs. He glances sideways at her, expression softening as he sees her lost expression. He slides in a bit closer, until his thigh is pressed tight against hers and he has to slip an arm around her shoulders to hold himself steady beside her. She doesn't acknowledge him, and Natsu whines lowly when she shivers, freezing and not knowing it.

He tucks her close against his side, the length of her torso pressed tight against his, his palm rubbing up and down her arm, friction helping to heat her chilled skin. Suddenly, she shivers against him, inhaling sharply and finally seeming to take notice of the cold. Lucy curls in on herself, bringing her knees close to her chest, free arm wrapping around them loosely. Her hands tremble violently, fingers shaking so badly he's afraid they might just break off, one by one.

She surprises him by turning to face him slightly, angling herself towards him before dropping her head to rest against his collarbone. He hisses through his teeth, her ear so cold it burns as if presses to his warm skin. Natsu snarls at the cold, wishing he could chase it away from her, but it persists, creeping closer, heedless of Natsu's warning.

Her breath is hot against his collarbone, exhales fanning across his skin. Natsu doesn't react, simply continues to rub her arm, chasing away the cold. The ice and cold doesn't concern him, it's never affected him like it does others, and he forgot that Lucy isn't made with ice in her veins—that she's not _invincible_.

But then, neither is he.

The fire flickers again, pale light dancing around the narrow space they've tucked themselves into, the wind whipping a path straight between the mountains which previously protected them. Shadows crawl across the walls, winding closer and wriggling like desert snakes, fast and venomous, maw wide and fangs outstretched, going for the throat.

Natsu glares at them, sighing when he remembers he can't do anything when faced with a shadow—a phantom. They slip straight through his fingers, gone before he can grasp them.

He casts a glance around the open space, squinting passed the mountains when he sees the first light of the sunrise peeking through the pass they've been walking down for ages. Natsu squints, trying to gauge the time as best he can, despite the mountains blocking his view of the sun. He'd guess it's early, no sooner than six, possibly earlier than that. He's never been good with the time. It's never mattered much to him, and where he came from there were times where the nights would outlive the days, everything swallowed in darkness during the winter months.

Already, he can see the sunrise bleeding red, the color mixing with gold to create something fiery. It's been like that since they left, the sky bleeding much like the people of Jorah. Spilled blood makes a red sun rise, that's what Igneel once told him. If that's the case, Natsu thinks much blood must have been spilled in Jorah, more than they saw that night.

"Lucy," he murmurs suddenly, glancing down to the silent woman curled against his side. She doesn't react for a long moment, and Natsu frowns as he giver her shoulder a gently squeeze. Jolting against him, Lucy's head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide and unfocused. She blinks rapidly, banishing her thoughts, and when her eyes lock with his they're much clearer, not as hazy and lifeless. "You okay?" he asks her softly, thumb ghosting her bare skin gently.

He's been worried about her, she's been quiet since they left the burning city, barely saying more than a few words at a time since they entered the mountains. He knows she's stressed, likely shocked by the carnage and the fighting, but he can't have her slipping away from him like this, not when they're so close to the border.

It's unfair to push her like this, he knows. She's been through a lot in only a few weeks, and that's never an easy thing.

Meeting his eyes, Lucy sends him a small, wobbly smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's a smile nonetheless, and he'll take what he can get. Lucy takes a shaky breath, hand coming up to cover the one on her shoulder, giving him a soft squeeze. "I'm fine, Natsu," she tells him, though the look in her eyes does nothing to convince him. "I promise." Her smile brightens just the slightest, eyes regaining some of the fire he's grown fond of seeing. "Don't worry about me," she says, giving his fingers another squeeze before dropping her hand back to her lap.

Natsu chuckles, the sound low and throaty. "Little late for that, Lucy," he teases, voice soft as he gazes down at her. Her mile widens just the slightest, but it's still a ghost of what it was several days earlier, smaller, not as bright around the edges. He squeezes her shoulder, ducking his chin to murmur in her ear, "Are you sure you're okay?"

She nods, gaze slipping from his slowly. Shifting, she turns to rest her temple against his collar, tucking herself close against his side to shield herself from the cold she's only just begun to notice. "Yeah," she whispers, sighing through her nose. Wetting her lips, she pauses for a moment, mulling over her thoughts before sharing them. "I've just been thinking," she tells him after a brief moment. He can feel her brow furrow against him.

"About what?" Natsu asks her, glancing down at the top of her head, his own eyes narrowing curiously. Interested in what's been on her mind, he may be, but really, he only wants to keep her talking. In some way, he's been missing the sound of her voice, having grown far too used to it in the roughly three weeks they've been together. Even in the beginning she was more talkative, and she was afraid of him then.

She sighs, watching as the fire flickers again, nearly blown out by a violent gust of mountain air. She doesn't answer right away, fingers coming up to tap against the side of her leg, lips pursed in deep thought. "What kind of king," she begins, pulling her head from his chest to peek up at him, "is so horrible his people would rather _die_ than serve him?" She holds his gaze, pinning him with her amber eyes.

Natsu's breath catches in his throat and he wonders if she's talking about the people of Jorah or if she means him.

He forces himself to hold her gaze, finding her expression more wolf like the longer he stares. Not predatory, but there's a sharp intelligence there, as if she knows something he doesn't, and Natsu thinks that maybe she does. He wonders if that's some product of her Fae blood, diluted as it may be, he's heard stories about them, strange stories. The most common are about the Fae leading men to their deaths, enchanting them and leading them over cliffs or beneath crashing waves, the men desperate to drown. Less common, but just as unnerving, is the myth that they can read the minds of men. With one glance, they're said to look right through someone, knowing their secrets, their desires, their dreams.

He doubts it's true, at least, not entirely. If the Fae could read a person with one glance, he doubts they would have been hunted down to nothing. No, he doesn't think they can peel back the mind's layers and read thoughts, it sounds farfetched, even for the rules of their lands. However, he wonders if maybe they have the ability to examine someone on a more basic level, knowing their intentions with a mere glance.

Eyes narrowing, he studies Lucy, watching as her eyes trace his features, head cocked to one side in thought. Her gaze snaps back to his and she relaxes against him, shoulders losing some of their tension, though not much.

It's something he could believe, Faeborne having a strong ability to read others emotions and intentions. Lucy allowed him to accompany her easily, almost too much so. He's wondered about it, thought her to be too trusting for days, but somehow he knows she's not. He can see it in the way she carries herself, an iciness about her, visible in the blankness of her eyes and the tight pull of her smile when she's talking to someone knew. Jorah was were he first noticed it, she was polite to others, yes, but there was something clipped about her. She was always careful not to touch people while walking, and there was a stiffness to her shoulders, a clear warning for others to leave her be.

He hurt her, attacked her and could have killed her—almost _did_ kill her, but she never once held that against him. She was weary, of course, but so was he. He wouldn't have blamed her if she'd shoved a blade between his ribs during the night, but she never did.

It's like she simply knew he wouldn't try to hurt her again. He'd said it, sure, but he knows that words are empty, at times.

Natsu thinks about what Lucy asked, about what kind of king would drive their citizens to civil war—to _massacre_. The answer feels heavy on his tongue, bitter. "A false king," he tells her, low growl building in his throat. He snorts, breath trailing away in a smoky hazy, barely visible in the light of the rising sun. "A tyrant."

Her gaze rips away from his, settling instead on the bleeding sunrise, her own expression hard and pensive, lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes flicker with something he doesn't catch, a hardness there and then gone again just as suddenly.

"A monster," she adds, fingers drumming against her knee. She says it with conviction, the word rolling from her tongue simply enough, like it's a fact.

His arm stiffens around her, Natsu inhaling sharply at the word he's heard directed at himself too many times to count. He can feel her eyes on his face, but he can't bring himself to look at her. The word strikes him somewhere between his ribs, a hot knife slicing through his skin and _twisting_. It's strange, he's never heard anyone all the Centari king a monster. He's thought it, several times, known it deep in his mind and in his heart, but no one else has ever said it.

Sighing, Natsu squeezes his eyes shut. "Yeah," he agrees, voice soft, "a monster."

They fall back into a more relaxed silence, the most comfortable it's been in the last four days. It's been slow going, making their way through the mountain pass. It's narrow, rocky, the trail unsteady, and Natsu knows that one wrong move could leave one or both of them careening down the side of the Jernnas to their deaths. Lucy has been leading him, a hand on his wrist when the path becomes more volatile, steadying him with a firm, but gentle hand.

Natsu is agile, yes, more so than most because of his Berserk blood, but Lucy puts even him to shame. She's fast, lighter on her feet, and the way she bounds across the rocks reminds him more of a wooly mountain goat than a young woman.

He told her as much, gaining the faintest look of amusement in return, much to his joy. She hasn't done much smiling in the last few days, too lost in her thoughts and the smell of smoke that followed them through the mountains, only disappearing when they neared Mithriel and the winds changed direction.

It still clings to them regardless, he can smell it in Lucy hair and on their blankets, not pleasantly like the smell of their fire. No, it's a more brutal smoke, tinged with decay, the scent of burning bodies.

It wouldn't be so strong, he knows, if they hadn't gone back to look.

 _He followed behind Lucy, the pair of them creeping back the way they came, edging closer and closer to the burning remains of the city they stayed in for nearly a week. Natsu kept behind her, allowing her to lead him back to the top of the hill overlooking the city. For a long moment, all they could see was smoke, thick in the air and so dark it blocked out the light of the rising sun._

 _Lucy coughed, waving away the smoke burning at her eyes, and squinted through the haze, peering down at the ruined city. Natsu hovered close behind her, placing a hand between her shoulder blades when she shook, wheezing when she breathed in the smoke and ash. Her nose wrinkled, but she leaned back into his touch, gasping when she caught sight of all that was left._

 _A large portion of the buildings were burned to the ground, reduced to nothing but thin wisps of smoke. The white tree in the center of the city was snapped in two, mangled branches cracked and broken, they could tell even from so far away. He looked to the Blue Moon, squinting to find the inn they were staying at, but couldn't find it in the rubble, not knowing the city well enough to find it from the hill. From what he could see, there was almost nothing left of Jorah, though the black gates still stood, tall and proud, but guarding nothing but the bones of a once fierce city._

 _Lucy's breath was shaky when she finally exhaled, hands trembling at her sides. She took a step away from the charred remains, back pressing against Natsu's chest as she shied away from the end of the small ledge they'd stopped upon. His hand slid from her back around to her front, curling across her collarbone to grasp the shoulder nearest to him, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze._

 _She murmured something under her breath, but Natsu didn't catch the words. Lucy gave a shaky sigh, leaning into his touch, and was so close that he could hear her swallow. "To the earth we return," she mumbled, one hand coming up to cover the one holding her to his chest, fingertips cool against the back of his hand._

 _Natsu swallowed the growing lump in his throat, squeezing her arm gently and resting his temple against the back of her head, eyes shutting as he avoided looking at Jorah. "And from the ashes we rise," he finished for her, sighing heavily. The old saying was one of Fiorian origin, an adage before battle, a way of reminding others that death was not the end. There would always be a new beginning, fire giving way to new life. He only knew it because of Igneel and a few of the other Berserks he was with in Crocus. They taught him little phrases from all over Ishgar. It was the only thing they could teach._

" _Did we do the right thing?" Lucy asked him suddenly, her magic whipping her hair around her face and his, her emotions causing the swell of magic inside her to burst at the seams.. He opened his eyes, grip on her growing tight as he considered the question. Lucy squeezed his hand, prompting a response from him, nails prickling at his skin._

 _His gaze slid sideways, eyes locking on the curve of her jaw, unable to meet her own. "What?" he asked, not sure what she meant by the question. There were a lot of things they'd done wrong over the last thirty odd days. She'd have to be a bit more specific, if she wanted a solid answer from him. Besides, Natsu didn't think there were any right choices. They did what they had to, that was it._

 _She was quiet for a long moment, hand slipping down to grasp at his forearm, fingertips drumming against his skin as she stared into the smoke. Her magic stretched out, pushing away the dark clouds as they drifted closer surrounding them. His hair ruffles with the force, short strands blowing around, the brightly colored locks falling into his eyes before he used his free hand to shove them back._

" _Running," she said after awhile, teeth pulling harshly at her bottom lip. "Should we have stayed to fight?" she asked, head tilting to the side curiously. There was no grief in her words, only curiosity, as if their presence could have done something. Perhaps it could have. There were Berserks, no doubt they tore many people apart. Natsu could have fought them, refused to let Bard send them away. "Or did we do the right thing? Running?" she murmured again, glancing over her shoulder to look at him._

 _He mulled it over, weighing the options in his mind. He felt bad for the people they knew. Peg had been kind to them. At the very least, she hadn't killed him, so that was something. The rest of the city? The soldiers? They wouldn't have saved him, not most of them. He was just another monster to them. No, he didn't care for Jorah, not the city and not its people, not when most of its inhabitants want people like him dead._

 _Why should he care that Jorah burned?_

 _Natsu sighed against her hair, pulling her tighter against him. She came willingly, falling back against him, stunned by the ash and decay, not used to the violence like him. Good, he thought, a massacre wasn't something anyone should be used to. Natsu would never want her to be so indifferent to so much death and blood._

" _Yeah," he answered after a long moment, breathing the word against her ear, ducking his chin to rest his temple against her hair. He sighed, shoulders heaving with the effort. He wanted to feel bad for saying it, but he had no love for Pergrande, not even for those fighting against the king._

 _Lucy shook her head, though Natsu didn't think she was disagreeing with him. At least, not entirely. He couldn't see her face, but he knew that if she was disagreeing—and vehemently so—she wouldn't hesitate to spite fire at him, to let him know she thought he was wrong. He admired her for that, how she made her thoughts known and wouldn't let him or anyone else ignore her thoughts. "We left Jorah to burn," she told him simply, not accusing, only stating a fact._

 _Natsu swallowed, nose wrinkling at the smell of smoke wafting toward them, the wind blowing Jorah's decay right for them. "Doesn't matter," he replied, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before releasing her, stepping back. He didn't do far, only drifting to the side a foot, moving to stand beside her, rather than behind._

 _Turning towards him, Lucy blinked slowly, expression devoid of anything that could heave given her away. In return, he eyed her wearily, wondering if he truly had said something wrong. Then, her gaze softened. She turned back to the city, wind whipping around her hair. "We could have done something." Lucy clucked her tongue, head tilting to one side. Something icy burned beneath her eyes, not altogether uncaring, but she seemed to have just as little love for Jorah—for Pergrande—as him._

 _No, it was the people there that made her expression half-twist into one of grief. Natsu hadn't known her for long, just enough to know she had more love in her little finger than most others did in their whole bodies. She'd carry everyone's grief inside her if she could, if only to make others happy._

 _She was some strange,_ fierce _little ray of sunshine, and it made something warm twist in his chest when he thought about it. Some burning admiration that needed to make itself known._

" _Doesn't matter," he repeated, turning to face her fully. Her magic reached out to him, blowing smoke away from his eyes, and Natsu sent her a small, stiff smile._

 _Lucy stared back at him for a long moment, fully allowing her sadness to take over, her entire face crumpling slightly as she glanced between him and the charred, mutilated bodies strewn across the ground below. "Do you really believe that?" she asked, softer than he'd ever heard her before._

 _He sighed, shrugging and reached out with one hand. He caught her by the elbow, gently turning her away from the destruction. She let him turn her, her back to Jorah, to Pergrande, and took a step forward when he gave her a nudge, a hand on her spine as he urged her forward. "It's what I'm going to tell myself," he murmured, leading her away._

She shivers against his side, almost violently as it wracks her body. His head snaps down to look at her, concern flickering in his jade eyes. "You okay?" he asks her, grip around her tightening. "Cold?" He's a poor judge of temperature, his own body heat masking most low temperatures unless he's been still for too long.

That's what it was like in the cells back in the capital. Normally, the ice wouldn't be so draining, but with nothing to do for hours and little eat the ice slowly started to eat away at them. He wasn't cold, per se, but the chill made him lethargic.

"I'm fine, Natsu," flashing him a quick smile before worming out of his grasp, stretching as she stands, joints popping as she twists around. She stares back the way they came, a pensive look on her face as he stands beside her, rolling his own stiff shoulders. "Do you think they won?" she asks him suddenly, head tilted to one side as she considers Jorah's odds.

Not everyone was dead from what they could tell, but he knows that's not what she's asking.

His eyes narrow in thought, but he isn't sure he has an answer for her. Instead, he simply sighs, sending her a quick look. She doesn't look away from him, gaze imploring, and Natsu wets his lips. He glances down the path, still seeing the faint wisps of smoke in the air.

Truthfully, he doesn't think any of them are winners. Even if the citizens and mutinying soldiers did win, it's not likely they'd be able to hold the city for long. It would be easy for Mithriel to send in soldiers and take back the city, but the ice lands are unorganized. There's only nomads and rogues this far East. Pergrande would be swifter in taking back the city.

On the other hand, open rebellion could spark along the edges of Pergrande because of this. Jorah might not be the only skirmish near the borders. Pergrande has been on the brink of war ever since the Centari line took control of the throne roughly one hundred years ago. There've been several uprisings in the past, but they were all put out quickly, snuffed like a flame.

With enough sparks the entire country might just burn.

"I think," he begins slowly, glancing over at her, "that good men and women died for what they believed in," Natsu says simply. It's only a matter of time before the Centari atrocities hit a breaking point, like glass put under too much pressure. Pergrande's political and economic structures are already fragile, the only reason all out rebellion hasn't occurred is because the King sends his Berserks to slaughter any who try. Like Jorah. "And I think now others will to."

Whether they succeed or not isn't something Natsu could be sure of.

An army of Berserks under the influence of twisted Fae magic are a force to be reckoned with. The odds are _not_ good.

Lucy clenches her jaw, determination flickering in her eyes. There's something resolute there that he hasn't seen before, hope, but also a type of grim acceptance. "This is only the beginning," she murmurs. Natsu doesn't think she's talking to him.

They pack quickly. Between the pair of them, they don't have much. Their blankets are shoved into Lucy's magicked bag, and Natsu douses the fire with water from a shallow pond a few yards from where they made camp. By the time he turns around, Lucy is finished, waiting for him only a few feet from the border between Pergrande and Mithriel, looking at the ground where barren mountains become ice and snow.

The change is gradual, they've been seeing snow for miles and miles at this point, only a little at first, but with every step there seemed to be more. Now, the ground is covered in it. Not as much as it would be during the harsher, Winter months, but enough for them to feel the chill of it.

He glances at Lucy, coming up to stand at her should. She looks up at him, a brightness to her eyes that wasn't there before. She must be as excited to leave this country as he is, her magic going crazy around them, zephyrs chasing each other and ruffling their hair and clothes. One gust is strong enough to nearly rip the bag from Lucy's shoulder, but she catches it just in time, latching on before the wind can take it.

"Ready to go?" he asks, quirking a brow at her almost challengingly. She notices his expression, narrowing her eyes, but nods. Lucy's lips purse, eyes locked with his. Natsu grins, wide and happier than he's felt in a long time. His lips pull back, revealing sharp teeth, his canines flashing in the morning light. "You'll be leading from here," he reminds her. "I don't know where to go."

He's never been to Mithriel while awake. The farthest he's ever been on missions was to the outskirts of Jorah, not close enough to see the town, but just enough to know where it was.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes at the teasing lilt in his voice. He's challenging her directional skills, and Lucy knows it. Huffing, Lucy sends him a glare that's more friendly than anything else. "Don't worry," she tells him, voice dripping with something sarcastic. "I know how to get us home."

He stumbles slightly at the word "home". At how casually she says it. It's true, she's going home. And Natsu? Well, Natsu thinks he might finally find a home, somewhere in Fiore. He might even go back to Alvarez, if he can find a ship willing to take him.

"I know you do," he says, lips twisting into a smaller, softer smile.

Natsu goes to take that final step, leaving Pergrande for good, but Lucy's arm shoots out, fingers curling around his bicep before he can take more than a step. He blinks down at her curiously, but she isn't looking at him, too busy pulling her bag from her shoulder and fishing for something inside.

"I have something for you," she murmurs, grinning up at him when she finds it.

She pulls out a long, dark leather jacket, hood lined with rabbits fur. Lucy holds it out, waiting for him to take it, but Natsu merely frowns, confused.

His head cocks to the side, brow quirking. "I don't get cold," he reminds her. It's a nice offer, and he appreciates it, he does, but it's really not something he needs. She's better off keeping it for herself. She's bound to get colder than him.

Lucy huffs, narrowing her eyes at him. "Well you'll stand out like a sore thumb looking like that!" she tells him, free hand gesturing to his bare chest. He follows her gaze, blinking down at himself, realizing she's right. She sighs, voice lowering with something sad. "Besides," she murmurs, "people here don't take too kindly to Berserkers," she mumbles. Natsu flinches, wincing, but Lucy is right there, hand coming up to cup his cheek, gently urging him to look at her. "Hey," she says, "you aren't the problem." She gives him a gentle smile, gaze sad as she looks at him. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

Natsu snorts, straightening his back and rolling his shoulders. "They won't be able to hurt me," he mutters, scoffing. He's bluffing and they both know it, but it drags that brightness back into her eyes.

"Don't be arrogant," she snips at him, hand dropping back to her side. She tries to bite back a smile as she says it, but he can see the ghost of one pulling at her lips. Again, she holds out the jacket, and this time he takes it with a soft "thank you." Lucy shakes her head, holding out her hand to him as she takes a step towards the border. "Let's go."

* * *

 **AN: EDITED 4/15/18**

 **I'm just making my way back through this. Such fun.**


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 4/15/18 Changes made throughout. And mention of Cobra is new to the chapter.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Nineteen**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Lucy huffs as she trudges through the snow, which has been gradually getting deeper and deeper since they entered Mithriel two days ago. At first, it wasn't too bad. The snow was up to her mid-calves at the highest, the air still warmer so close to the border. Lucy could walk fine for the first day and a half, used to hiking for long periods of time due to Makarov's trading business. Rarer ingredients for his tonics or the occasional precious gem were never easy to come by, requiring more climbing and running than Lucy could say she liked. She's been running errands for Makarov and Cobra for years now, through all kinds of climates and terrains. She's used to it.

However, by the second morning the snow grew immensely, now up to her knees at the lowest, and even higher on her thighs when she took a wrong step. She hadn't had to deal with this during her first pass through Mithriel, though that was some weeks back, during the brief summer of the ice bound lands. There's only a short window of time where the ice and snow is tolerable in the mountainous region and she was hoping to be to Pergrande and back before the long winter began to wake.

There was snow when she first past through, yes, but not nearly so much as there is now, a fact that Lucy can't help but lament. She never wanted to be caught in this sort of weather, not when she's just as likely to freeze out here as she is to make it out alive. Given the choice, she would have waited until spring to leave for Pergrande, wait until the first thaw and make it home before winter returned, but that was out of her hands. Makarov and Cobra couldn't wait. The deal was too important, and waiting until spring wouldn't have been possible. Veridian Viper eggs, the kind that Cobra needed so badly, are rarely laid around that time.

Cobra may be her friend, but a deal is a deal. He wouldn't have given her the venom Makarov needed without those eggs. That's simply the way business works for people like them. No one gets something for nothing, and she knows from experience just how ruthless Cobra could be at times. It's what caused so much trouble between him and Loke all those years ago and sent Cobra and Kinana running to Pergrande. Though, Loke did bring that on himself. Cobra never would have sold his secrets if Loke hadn't cheated him out of a deal.

It's a ruthless game they all play.

Not for the first time, Lucy finds her thoughts drifting back to her friends in Pergrande, wondering if any of them are still alive. A part of her thinks she would know if they weren't, but she can never be quite sure if the feelings she gets are because of her Fae blood or something else entirely. She won't have news about them until she returns to Fiore, and that's only if she and Natsu can survive the freezing temperatures of Mithriel.

At least she had the sense to pack for the cold, exchanging her sleeveless jacket for a heavier one, leather and weather proof, the inside lined with wool. A gift from Laxus on her last birthday, though she hadn't the chance to use it much, given how fair Fiore's weather is.

They have winter, of course, a relatively violent one at that, but it only lasts for a few weeks, two months at most, and that's only near the mountains in the north. Fiore is surrounded by the ocean on three sides, so the weather is fairly consistent near the coast. They have rain more than snowstorms, even during the darkest nights of winter.

Fiore's climate left her woefully unprepared for this kind of weather, something more frustrating than anything else. Despite her efforts, Lucy can't seem to remain unstuck for more than a few steps, her boots cursed to find the worst places to land. It wouldn't be nearly as bad if she weren't falling behind. Annoying, yes, but she wouldn't be nearly as cross.

Natsu, of course, is having no trouble at all with the ice and snow, moving forward with ease, several paces ahead of her, despite not knowing where to go. He glances back at her every few feet, checking to make sure the ice hasn't swallowed her up. There's an amused twinkle in his gaze whenever he peeks back at her, watching her stumble along behind him. Less noticeable is the look of relief in his eyes when he sees her right behind him.

Worrying her lip, Lucy tries not to think about her arm and the winding spider-veins curling from her shoulder down passed her elbow, her skin pale, but the veins black as night. The chill seems to soothe the ache, Lucy barely able to feel it now. That, or she's become so used to the sensation that she's simply come to ignore it. A dangerous thing she knows. It's no good to become used to pain, numb to it. It always leads to worse consequences.

She's been checking on it every morning, usually when Natsu's still asleep. It's gotten worse, even if the pain is dulled. She's been trying to keep it as clean as she can, using what little of Makarov's paste she has left and rewrapping it every morning. The dark veins make her nervous, but it's not an infection, she's come to realize. Her arm isn't swollen and there's no fever. She doesn't think it's blood poisoning either. It's something else, but she doesn't know what—just that it's bad.

The only good part about the weather is that it's made the wound easier to hide. Her jacket covers her arms and the bandage and the black veins. She doesn't have to worry about Natsu noticing, not if she's careful. He was cautious around her arm when he could see the bandage, eyeing it wearily. His nose always wrinkled when he saw it, as if he knew something was wrong, but didn't want to say anything.

In Jorah, Natsu asked her why she still wore the bandage, worry clear in his eyes. She only smiled back at him, shrugging and telling him about her friend back home who wears bandages around his hands, from wrist to knuckle.

He didn't seem to believe her, but he didn't press.

Honestly, Lucy doesn't know why she hasn't told him. She's been meaning to—she's _tried_ , but every time she does the words stick in her throat, and Lucy can't physically force them out. That's what scared her more than anything. Despite trying to tell him—to _show him_ what's wrong, it's like something's stopping her, something stronger than she is.

Like there's something else in her head.

At first, she didn't say anything because she didn't think it was a big deal. It was just a bite, it would go away eventually. And it did. The puncture wounds have sealed over, leaving four little silver scars on her upper arm. In all, they healed nicely, compared to some of the scars she's seen.

Later, she didn't want to tell him because she knew he would blame himself for it, even though he wasn't in control at the time. Lucy knows he hasn't forgiven himself for attacking her, even if she's long since done so. And she knows— _she knows_ that he won't be able to look her in the eyes if he sees her arm. The last thing she wants is for him to slink back into the darkest corners of his mind.

And she wants to tell him, she really does, but she _can't_.

That terrifies her more than anything else.

Her shaky hand drifts to her arm, fingers curling above her new scars, prodding gently at where she knows the veins have started, feeling for any aches, but finding none. They don't hut anymore, not during the daytime. It's not until after dark that it hits her, Lucy feeling like her entire arm is on fire, nerve endings flaring with pain.

It's getting harder to ignore when the sun goes down. She hasn't been sleeping much since they left Jorah, hasn't been talking much either. She's knows that's worrying him, too.

As if knowing she's thinking about him, Natsu stops walking from several feet ahead, twisting around to grin at her, a brow quirked as he watches her struggle through the knee high snow. His lips twitch n amusement. "I thought you were supposed to be leading me," he calls out, eyes shinning with mischief.

Baring her teeth, Lucy hisses at him. "You best wipe that grin off your face before I do it for you, Natsu," she snaps back, unamused with his quips. He's been laughing at her for the past two days, cracking jokes at her expense every mile or two, just to lighten the mood.

Truthfully, she's rather thankful for it. She hasn't much felt like talking at all, but Lucy thinks the silence would eat away at her if neither of them said anything. She doesn't mind the quiet, but that doesn't mean she likes it much either.

"So sassy," he tells her, chuckling under his breath as he waits for her to catch up. He's still grinning when she finally slides up beside him, glaring when he tries to bite back his grin. Natsu holds his hands up in a placating gesture, reaching out to steady her when she nearly trips, foot caught in the snow.

Lucy huffs, sending him a glare, but there's no fire there, only something like mock-defeat. She heaves a sigh. "Your legs are longer than mine," Lucy mumbles, complaining slightly. Honestly, if she were only a few inches taller this wouldn't be so much of an issue.

She hates being this small, all her height has ever done is give her grief, especially from her family and Cobra. She can't reach things on the shelves in Makarov's shop and her brothers never fail to remind her of it. If she were to tell the truth, she would admit that she nearly cried when Romeo outgrew her by a _head_ when he was only thirteen. Laxus laughed at her then, and Lucy pouted for a good week when she realized she was now the smallest of the three. And Cobra was never shy about mocking her for her height, teasing her often before he left for Pergrande.

It's unfair, but at least she still has a few inches on Makarov. The older man has been shrinking for nearly a decade now, though he was never the tallest to begin with. She can't remember a time where he was any taller than five feet, though she can't remember much from her childhood at all until after her mother was killed.

Natsu quirks a brow, head tilting to the side in thought as he considers what she's said. He purses his lips, giving her a quick once-over. "Do you want me to carry you?" he asks, sounding, by all accounts, entirely serious, save for the laughter dancing in his eyes. He can't hold his sincere expression for long, his lips pulling back to reveal a toothy grin.

"Brute," Lucy sniffs, sending him a nasty look. It doesn't last long. Natsu chuckles in response, and she can't help but crack a smile at the mirth dancing across his face, his eyes lighting up when she sends him a small pout. She has to bite her lip to keep from laughing, but suddenly she doesn't feel quite so heavy, thoughts of her arm shoved far back into the precipice of her mind.

She glances up, watching Natsu's face turn towards the sky, his eyes lighting up when a flurry of snowflakes descends on them. The crystals stick to their hair, peppering Natsu's bright locks with dots of white. They land on his lashes, Natsu blinking rapidly when they get too close to his eyes. She gives a breathy laugh and he looks back at her, smiling.

"You really like the snow, don't you?" she asks, reaching up to ruffle her hair, sending flakes scattering around them. Snow coats her lashes, the iciness tickling her skin, nipping at her. She wrinkles her nose at the feeling, wrapping her arms firmly around her middle.

He nods, staring at the falling snow in wonder. "It reminds me of Alvarez," he tells her softly, a small smile pulling at his lips. Natsu locks eyes with her, only briefly, but his eyes alight with something joyful, something that doesn't make him look so tired, something that makes him look a bit younger, youthful. "It snowed nine months out of the year there," he murmurs, breathing in the chilly air deeply.

She stares at him in wonder. "What was it like?" she asks him, the pair of them standing in the middle of the snow covered hills, nothing around them but trees for miles and miles. The world is quiet, just the two of them standing there, gazing around at the soft snowfall in absolute amazement. "I know you told me before, but…" she trails off, smiling apologetically.

Lucy was half-asleep when he told her, drifting in and out of focus. She wishes she had been more awake, or paid more attention, but she'll listen again, if he's willing to tell her.

He considers her question for a long moment, gaze snapping to hers, pinning her in place. "Quiet," he murmurs eventually. "Peaceful." His expression dims, something dark entering his green eyes, icy and cruel. "At least," he spits, hands clenching at his sides, "until the traders came. They ransacked the place, destroyed everything in their paths." Natsu scoffs, shoving his fists deep into the pockets of his jacket. "Didn't give a damn about any of us besides what they could sell us for." A low, threatening growl spills from his throat, but Lucy knows it isn't for her. "They used to burn everything to the ground," he finishes lowly.

Wetting her lips, Lucy looks down at her boots, ignoring the snowflakes accumulating in her hair. "And that's when they brought you to Fiore," she guesses, wincing. Shame creeps into her chest, Lucy worrying her lip between her teeth.

It's not a question, but Natsu answers regardless. He nods, whispers a quiet "yeah" that's almost ripped away with the wind. Lucy almost doesn't hear him. Almost, but she does, his voice soft, something broken in that single word. He doesn't look at her, eyes trained on the white sky, blue masked by the millions of snowflakes tumbling around then, the land stark, empty.

"I'm sorry," she tells him suddenly, stepping up beside him. She reaches out with one hand, bare fingers curling around the crook of his elbow. He snaps around, blinking down at her, confused, but Lucy can't meet his eyes for a log moment. "About what they did, to you and your family," she clarifies, finally looking up into his eyes. "I'm sorry." She holds his gaze, an apology in her eyes. Her fingers squeeze around his arm gently before she drops the limb back to her side.

Natsu's eyes narrow, but not in the anger she was expecting, only bewilderment. He reaches out to her, pushing her long, messy hair out of her face, the wind stinging her eyes. "Wasn't your fault," he mumbles, sending her a tight smile.

He's not mad, she knows—not at her, anyway, but Lucy thinks she has enough anger in her for the both of them.

Lucy gives him a wry smile, lips curving back over her teeth, not quite a snarl, but something close. "No," she agrees, something bitter crawling up from her throat. "But it was my country's," Lucy says firmly.

Fiore, despite what some may say, is really not different from Pergrande. They both make beasts out of boys.

The rings have been getting better, yes, but not by much. Ever since the fabled Red Night, the Fiorian government has placed laws on the rings, lax as they may be. Fighters are war criminals or men with too much to prove, Fiore ending it's slave trade with Bosco nearly a decade ago. Some royal families hire fighters, entering them in bloody fights and repaying them in gold, all for the prestige of it.

Lucy has never seen the rings herself, only heard terrible stories from Makarov and Laxus, him being old enough to be brought to one by his father. It was only once, and Laxus refused to speak for a week afterwards, too shaken by what he saw. The only fighting ring still in existence is the Domus Flau, the largest, centered in the capital. There are fights everyday, at midnight, like clockwork.

She doesn't understand why rich men want to watch others tear each other to pieces, but it makes her sick to think about.

They walk together in silence for several minutes, Lucy struggling to keep up with his much longer strides until Natsu slows down for her, taking shorter steps and hurrying to tug her along when she gets stuck. While Lucy can't say she enjoys being man-handled like this, she knows that the faster they move, the better things will be for the pair of them.

There are Rogues this far east, huge bands of them just waiting to ambush anyone they come across, needing the supplies. Lucy was lucky not to come across any of them one her way through before, but now that Winter is coming Lucy's sure they'll be on the move.

Pausing, she wonders how far the smoke from Jorah's massacre spread into the sky. If anyone saw it, they'll be heading right for them, looking for survivors trying to escape into Mithriel. The thought makes her shiver, teeth gritting in disgust.

"So what's winter in Fiore like?" Natsu asks her suddenly, peering down at her curiously, one brow quirked. He half twists around to help yank her out of a snow bank when her leg sinks in up to just above her knee. He doesn't laugh, but she can see the twitch of amusement on his lips.

Again, she curses her too short legs, wishing she could walk without stumbling about like a baby deer. At this rate, they'll be lucky to make it to Fiore before next summer, though she doubts the pair of them could last that long. At least, Lucy knows she wouldn't.

She frowns at his question, wishing they had stuck to the road, but knowing that would be as good as offering herself up to the Rogues directly, handing them her bag and weapons without a fight. "Cold," she tells him after a moment, finding it easier when she follows in his footsteps, having to hop to match his strides. "And wet," Lucy tacks on, wrinkling her nose when she feels snow melting in her boot, her stockings damp and chilly, squishing with every step she takes.

He snorts, fingers looping around her wrist to hold her steady. "Sounds like most winters," he replies, wetting his lips before turning his back to her, watching the area in front of them—for Rogues or something else, she can't be sure. There isn't much to look at in Mithriel.

The snow is beautiful, yes, but Lucy can find that just about anywhere. Perhaps the land would be prettier, she thinks, if it weren't so barren, so lifeless. The mountains are too far north for them to see, closer to the coast, and the great pine forests are to the south. They might come across Herne, great, shaggy elk type creatures, white as the snow with antlers twisting above them like the branches of a tree.

Fae Deer, they've been called, light on their feet and rarely seen. Some think they're only a myth, a story for children, but Lucy knows better. The Herne are real, though they don't appear to just anyone. Her mother told her they _were_ Fae Deer, in a sense. Holding earthy magic deep inside them, they could sense magic in others as well, actively seeking them out at times.

Friends of the Faeborne, her mother said, holding her hand out to a great stag, his breath puffing in the crisp air.

She hums in agreement to his statement, knowing that Fiore's winters are nothing special. At least, not for most. "Basically," she says, trudging along beside him, forcing herself to match his pace. "Though," she starts, tossing him a quick look, "my family does have a recurring flock of Polarians that migrate to Fiore every year."

Polarians are an interesting bird, large and silver, with a plume of long feathers for a tail. They absolutely sparkle in the sunlight, pretty to look at, friendly too. And exceptionally fast. Not any people can catch a Polarian, the birds seeming to be one with the winter winds.

"Really?" Natsu asks, raising a brow at her. He looks mildly impressed, something fond in his expression. She figures he remembers them from his own childhood, the winter birds migrating from Alvarez to Ishgar every year, preferring Fiore's fairer weather to the peek of the Alverez winter.

Lucy smiles to herself, thinking of home, her brothers always chasing after the birds when they were younger. Romeo was always particularly fond of them bits of raw meat whenever he could. "Yeah," she murmurs back. "They're pretty friendly, we always feed them when we can." She looks up at him with a smile. "Romeo calls the patriarch Gunther." He snorts in laughter, but she isn't finished. "And the matriarch is Nia."

"Gunther and Nia," he repeats, disbelief thick on his tongue. He meets her gaze, Lucy's expression utterly serious, and barks out a laugh, shoulders shaking as he takes in what she's just told him.

Lucy frowns at his laughter, feeling like he's mocking her brother. She shoves at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge. He only laughs harder at her effort, only managing to smother his chuckles when she pouts up at him, more teasing than anything else. "He named them when he was seven," she defends, offended for Romeo, even if she's teased him about the same thing in the past.

She and Laxus are the only ones allowed to make fun of him for his horrible naming skills. That's how family works. She may fight with Laxus and even Romeo at times, but they're family, and she would do absolutely anything for them.

Natsu nods, the laughter never leaving his eyes, which makes her glad. She didn't like how pinched his expression was back in Jorah, in the mountains. She could tell he was nervous, uncomfortable around so many people, but also afraid. Truthfully, she was afraid too—terrified, actually.

He's at home, here, surrounded by the ice and snow.

"How old is he now?" Natsu asks suddenly, ripping her from her thoughts.

Lucy blinks up at him, eyes narrowing as she thinks about it. It's not that she doesn't remember, she wound never forget her brother's birthday, she just isn't sure how soon it is. The days have been blurring, especially lately. "About sixteen," she tells Natsu after a brief pause. "His birthday is coming up." In two months, she thinks. Enough time for her and Natsu to make it to Fiore. She just hopes he hasn't found his present in her room, the little sneak.

"That should be fun," Natsu says, shaking his head and sending a flurry of snowflakes dancing around them. He yawns suddenly, and Lucy realizes how late it's gotten, the sky beginning to darken slowly. They'll have to make camp soon. Natsu looks back at her, expression stating the same thing.

She hums in response. "Maybe." Lucy looks up at the sky, frowning when she sees dark clouds in the distance. The shapes move almost violently, twisting and curling together, a storm just waiting to happen. She hopes they can outrun it, but it's heading right for them. Lucy shakes the thought away, lips pressed into a thin line. She glances back at Natsu. "Unless Laxus finds some way to ruin it," she muses, mostly joking.

Natsu doesn't seem to understand the joke. "Does he do that often?" he murmurs, head tilting curiously to one side, his eyes narrowing just the slightest. There's something like bewilderment on his face, a shock there, as if he can't believe Laxus would ruin anything, especially not a birthday party.

"Only when he's in one of his moods," Lucy laughs, voice carried away with a gust of wind that nearly knocks her down with it. She stumbles, tripping over herself, but Natsu catches her before she can fall, hand wrapping around her bad elbow and making her flinch at the sudden flair of pain.

She glances down at her arm in confusion, eyes widening just the slightest, startled by the unexpected sting. Gasping lightly, Lucy doesn't notice Natsu stepping forward until he's already there, his other arm coming around to press against her spine, holding her steady and shielding her from the wind.

For a moment, neither say a work, Lucy too shaky from the throbbing in her arm, limb feeling like it's on fire. She grits her teeth to keep from making a sound, but Natsu must notice her pinched expression, his hands going slack as he releases her, taking a half-step back and looking at her in concern. A second passes, Lucy taking a deep breath as the burn dulls into an annoying ache, one reminiscent of jarring her elbow on a door.

Natsu doesn't relax until she sends him a small smile, the tension draining from his shoulders in seconds.

After a moment he wets his lips, swallowing thickly as he gives her a concerned look. "Do you think he'll be in one of his moods?" he asks quietly, holding firm despite the raging wind against his back. His open jacket whips around violently, caught in the gusts. A brass button almost nicks her cheek, he's so close, but Natsu doesn't pull back, only watches her closely and lets the wind beat against him.

Her lips press into a thin line, not a frown, but something close to it. "Depends," she whispers back, knowing he can hear her despite the howling around them. She takes a deep breath, holding back a cough when the freezing air burns at her lungs. Lucy rips her eyes away from his suddenly, glancing over his shoulder to peer at the dark clouds, swearing that they're moving closer.

"On what?" he breathes back, also glancing over his shoulder. He tenses when he sees the brewing squall, murmuring something Lucy can't hear, the wind whipping his words away from her before she can catch them. He glances back at her, expression pinched, but not as concerned as Lucy feels. Either the storm isn't as close as it looks, or he's putting on a brave face.

Shrugging, Lucy crosses her arms tightly over her chest, curling her arms around herself as the cold seeps into her bones. "Our best guess is the weather," she jokes, gaining a small, barely-there smile from her companion. "He gets cranky when it rains." She wrinkles her nose, remembering some of her cousin's more volatile moments, how angry he can be at times.

He nods along, seeming to understand. There's something melancholy in his eyes, so deep-rooted Lucy isn't sure it could ever come out. It takes her a moment to realize he's thinking about his own abilities, despite how different they are.

"Because of his magic?" Natsu asks suddenly, searching for clarification, or maybe he just wants her to keep talking, to take his mind off whatever's making his gaze so heavy.

She nods, biting at her lower lip absentmindedly. "Yeah," she tells him, both staring at the clouds pensively. "It acts up," Lucy continues, shuffling her feet. Her toes are freezing, legs going numb from the cold. "Makes him restless." Lucy takes a step forward, squinting at the clouds, trying to determine how close they really are.

With the landscape so flat and barren it can be a challenge to tell distance. There are no trees to help guide her.

He hums in thought, nodding briefly. Suddenly, Natsu rips his gaze away from the dark clouds, instead looking down at her, waiting until Lucy meets his eyes to speak. "Does the weather make you restless?" he murmurs back to her, Lucy straining to catch the question.

"Only during storms," she says, only half-joking. There's no humor to it, and Lucy blanches when she looks back towards the horizon. A shiver crawls up her spine, Lucy's lips twisting into a concerned frown. The cold bites at her nose and Lucy wants nothing more than to crawl in on herself, but she holds firm, hands tightening into fists at her sides.

He considers this, mulling it over for several long seconds as they stand there in the middle of nowhere, the wind beating at them and tossing their hair around their faces. "Do you think it's going to storm?" he questions, not missing the double meaning in her words.

Lucy gives a rueful smile, snarling at nothing as her lips pull back over her teeth. "I think there's always a storm."

* * *

 **AN: EDITED 4/15/18**


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED: 4/21/18. Added more about the history/culture of Mithriel and more about Cobra.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twenty**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Lucy glances sideways at him, ripping her gaze from the storm clouds moving closer. Her lips press into a thin line, eyes narrowing as she looks between him and what appears to be a snowstorm approaching. The sky above them is gray, flecks of blue escaping through the clouds for only a moment before being swallowed once again, disappearing without a trace. Farther of, west of them, the sky is whitened out, looking like a sheer wall as it billows towards them, a low rumble crackling through the air.

Shifting nervously, she catches her lip between her teeth, worrying it as she stares at the looming clouds. The snow has picked up the closer they've gotten to the border with Stella, keeping close to the mountains separating the two countries, both to better block the wind, but also to make sure they don't lose their way, becoming trapped in the ice.

The blankness of Mithriel has a way of turning people around, everything looking the same to anyone unfamiliar with the land. Even experienced travelers often have trouble traveling through the snow covered land, not having landmarks to follow and relying upon the stars, often blocked from view by the frequent snowstorms.

Her grandfather, Makarov, lived in Mithriel for a time when he was younger, before her mother and Laxus' father were born. He used to tell her and Laxus stories of the snowstorms when they were younger, how everything would go white for miles and miles and it would be so easy to become lost. More people are killed by the storms of Mithriel than anything else in the country, their bodies lost in the snow. Most people are hardly found in these parts, though not many people go looking for those that don't return.

Mithriel is a primarily nomadic country with several warring factions, different dialects and customs and even gods. It was only the war with Pergrande that brought the groups together, ended their fighting for a time, but it won't last forever. Once the war with Pergrande finally comes to an end, the Mithriens will go back to warring with each other. Makarov always said they were warlike people, bullheaded.

Makarov himself was born to no faction, as his mother was Mithrien and his father was from Fiore, though she was a Corsac Mithrien from the southeast around the Miraal Sea region. And Cobra was raised in Mithriel as child before his family left for Minstrel, settling in the western coastal city of Jarda. Before that he was a Syrinka Mithrien, mountain traders along the Stella border.

It was Cobra's suggestion to follow the mountains, skirting around Stella. He knows the territory, though he hasn't been there in years, and she knows a little of the Syrinkan dialect if they should run into any of them, though at this point in the year they'll likely be hidden deep in the mountains to wait out the long winter, drifting closer to Stella where it's still warm. If she and Natsu follow the border, they'll be led directly into Bosco, and from there it should only be another weeks worth of walking for them to reach Fiore. If all goes well, Lucy will be home in a little over two weeks, much to her immense relief. Nearly four months she'll have been gone. Four long, nerve-wracking months. She'll be glad to be home again.

They've already been in Mithriel for nearly a week, the going slow, but their pace picking up the closer they are to Stella and it's more mild climate. The mountains are covered in snow, yes, but there's significantly less than when they were closer to the center of the country. The mountains block most of it, Lucy finding it easier to keep pace with Natsu without snow reaching to her knees.

Despite their unhurried pace, Lucy thinks they've been making good ground. If her estimates are correct, they should be roughly halfway through Mithriel, give or take some. She can't be entirely sure, but she's been paying close attention to the geography, watching for certain bends and curves in the mountain chain, attempting to match them with what she's seen on Makarov's trading maps.

Unfortunately, the snowstorm seems like it might delay them, the white wall heading directly towards them.

Sighing, Lucy turns away from the looming shapes in the distance, glancing behind her to stare pensively at the potential shelter the pair of them stumbled upon earlier in the day, deciding to stop for the time being, not wanting to risk being caught in the storm without a place to wait it out.

It's a cave, at least, it's supposed to be. The thing is more of a crack in the mountain than anything else, barely large enough for the pair of them to fit inside, but small enough to keep the wind from coming in and chilling them to the bone. It'll be a tight fit, but that's likely for the best. They'll better preserve heat without a large gap between them, though, Lucy doesn't think that would be much of a problem regardless. Natsu's temperature runs so hot that it wouldn't matter.

She almost didn't notice the little cave at first, the entrance partially blocked by warped bushes covered in dying leaves, half-hidden from sight. It was Natsu that pointed it out, his senses sharper than hers as he picked out the space with ease, having to partially guide Lucy with a wave of his hand until she found it.

Lucy leans back against the mountainside, ignoring the way bits of rock dig into her back, pricking at her through her jacket. She considers moving, but ultimately decides to stay put, eyes locked on the clouds, still far off, but steadily moving closer with every passing minute. They need to figure out what they want to do, and they need to do it quickly. If they want to leave, they should do it now, covering whatever ground they can before the storm hits. They could find another cave farther along if they really looked.

A foolish idea, really, but they're running out of options. They don't have time to bicker about what they want to do, not this time. They faced one storm back in Jorah and barely made it out in one piece, they might not be quit so lucky this time around.

"How close do you think it is?" she asks Natsu, lips pressing into a thin line as she glances between him and the snowstorm heading towards them. A rock digs into her shoulder, but Lucy pays no mind to it, the slight burn making her forget about the slow, steady aching in her left arm, duller than it was before, but just as constant, just as worrisome.

He doesn't look at her, jade eyes locked on the storms, his expression harder than she's ever seen it. He stands stock-still beside her, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he snarls at the storm, lips curved back to reveal his teeth. No sound leaves him, not even a breath, and Lucy is just starting to think he wouldn't answer at all when he finally rips his eyes away from what's coming, gaze snapping to hers. "Too close," he mumbles, exhaling heavily through his nose. Natsu runs his tongue along his teeth, fingers drumming against his thigh.

Lucy nods, humming to herself. It's not a good answer, but she figures it's the best either of them could do. They can't tell how fasts it's coming or how large it really is. It could still be tens of miles away, or it could be practically on top of them. Natsu's guess is as good as hers, better probably, and she trusts him enough to make a decision based on it.

Lucy's tongue flicks over her lips, her nose wrinkling when the cold bites at the wet muscle, her mouth going dry when the air swirls around her. Her own magic isn't strong enough to push it back, the zephyrs nothing compared to the howling north wind beating down on them. Lucy is sure that if she were to take a step forward the wind would simply carry her away, ripping her straight off the side of the cliff they've settled upon.

She turns to Natsu, facing more directly. She shoves her hair back away from her eyes, the blonde strands whipping around violently, snapping into her eyes and catching on her lips. "And you think we should stay here?" she asks him, looking for reassurance more than an argument. She's merely weighing their chances, considering their few options carefully. "We could be buried inside," she reminds gently, lips twisting into a frown.

Suffocation has always been something that scared her, especially as of late. She knows what it's like not being able to breathe, knows how terrifying it is and dizzy it made her feel. In that moment, Lucy could feel herself slipping away from reality, pain drifting into nothingness as the lack of air slowly killed her. She never wants that to happen again, not to her and not to Natsu either.

Honestly, Lucy thinks she would rather face the cold than let her mind slip away so easily, slowly dying trapped in a crack in the side of a mountain. No one would find them there, not for weeks and weeks. Not until the spring, when all the ice is gone. Lucy doesn't want to be left there to rot until springtime, not when she's so close to being home.

"Better than being buried out there," Natsu says softly, reaching out to give her right shoulder a gently squeeze, his bare fingers curling around her arm carefully. He shoves his own hair back from his face, sending her an almost rueful smile, clearly not liking their options just as much as her. He's tense, eyes hard as he looks between her and the storm, fidgeting slightly, weight shifting from side to side.

Lucy laughs, but there's no humor to it. She shakes her head when Natsu sends her a surprised look. She returns it, mock-amusement in her eyes, though her smile is tense, bitter and hardly a smile at all. "Not by much," she says, sighing, feeling the fight drain from her, no bite to her words.

He quirks a brow, surprised as he stares down at her. For a moment he says nothing, simply stares, but the he frowns, something sad overtaking his expression. "You'd rather freeze," he murmurs. It's not a question, simply an observation, and a clever one at that.

She has to stop herself from saying she'd rather do anything than suffocate again, biting her tongue just in time to stop the words from spilling out. It wasn't his fault, and she doesn't blame him for what happened. She won't give him a reason to doubt her trust in him. "I'd rather be able to see the sunlight," she corrects, managing a small, tense smile for him, hoping to ease his own nerves.

It doesn't seem to work, his brow furrowing as he stares down at her, something in his gaze that she doesn't recognize. He steps in a bit closer, shifting them so his back is turned to the storm, blocking it from her view. "Don't worry," he says, crooked grin pulling at his lips. "I wouldn't let you die without being able to see it again." It sounds like a joke, but there's something utterly serious in his expression, his eyes too intense for it to be a simple joke.

"Reassuring," she replies, sending him the best smile she can muster. It comes out flat, she can tell. Lucy appreciates his words, she really does, but they don't mean much, not at the moment. Despite this, the words do relax her a bit, or perhaps it's the honest look in his eyes, the promise there. It's not something he can promise, not really, but she knows he would do his best to fulfill it.

He steps in closer, leaning over her, hand still curled around her shoulder gently. His fingers tap against her shoulder blade, so light she almost misses it. Natsu ducks his dead, stooping slightly to look her in the eyes. "I promise," he says, a firm edge to his words. "I said I'd get you home, right?" he asks her, waiting until she nods to let his expression slip into a small smile.

Lucy own lips twist into a frown, her eyes narrowing slowly. "Why are you helping me?" she asks him, more curious than accusing. He startles at the question, eyes wide, but Lucy doesn't take it back. She remembers his reasons from the first day: guilt and nowhere else to run, but they're long past that. He's protected her several times, if he was so concerned about a blood dept it already would have been paid by now. And he could have left her as soon as they entered Mithriel, going his own way, but he didn't, choosing instead to stick with her.

She wants to know why.

"Because I said I would," he replies simply enough, wincing when Lucy sends him an unimpressed look. He swallows, throat bobbing harshly. Natsu's gaze slips away from hers, his brow furrowing as he looks down at the snow. Lucy's impatience grows, but before she can ask him again his head snaps up, surprising her. "We each pick a rune," he murmurs.

Lucy nods in understanding, vaguely familiar with the practice. Makarov has an old book of them at how, depicting the symbols and their meanings. She remembers seeing Natsu's that first day, though it was too smeared with blood and sweat for her to read. "And what did you pick?" she asks, peering up at him.

His expression softens, but only slightly. For a moment he says nothing, then he sighs and drops into a crouch, startling her with the sudden movement. Lucy stares, unsure if she should follow him down, but Natsu doesn't appear to notice her dilemma, his gaze focused on the ground. He reaches out for the snow, placing a single finger in the ice crystals. She blinks, confused, but then he begins to draw, hand moving in careful strokes to make crisp lines.

It comes out looking like a "Y", though there's a third prong jutting out the top, the main line continuing upwards, rather than cutting off at the base of the "v".

Natsu turns back to her, standing slowly, his gaze trained on her eyes, something serious there. "It's called Algiz," he explains quietly, eyes drifting from her face to the drawing in the snow, the shape slowly being covered by a fresh flurry of snow. "It means to protect." He looks back at her. "I want to protect," Natsu clarifies, giving a small smile.

Lucy starts to speak, but he cuts her off, albeit gently, needing her to listen to what he's saying. And she does, she wants to know why he stayed when it would have been easier for him to go.

"You helped me that day," he continues, shuffling to better face her directly, blocking the wind from beating on them both. "Maybe you weren't trying to, but you did." His smiles widens, but only for a moment before disappearing entirely. "You could have just killed me." She flinches at the thought, but he only sends her a brief, apologetic look. "It might have been easier, but you chose to take the collar off me, even though you had no reason to believe I wouldn't just kill you when it came off," he finishes quietly, Lucy barely able to hear him over the howling wind.

Her lips part with a wet crackle, Lucy's tongue heavy and thick in her mouth, clumsy. She tries to speak, but nothing comes out, her mouth opening and closing slowly. Her voice cracks when she finally manages to say something, nothing more than a murmur of his name. "Natsu," she whispers, syllables wobbly on her tongue.

His smile comes back, still small, but much brighter, stretching up to meet his eyes. "You stopped me from doing something I would have hated myself forever for," he tells her, a grateful tint to his voice, much to Lucy's surprise. "You stopped me from doing something awful." He takes a half-step towards her, hand coming up to brush the hair out of her eyes. "I chose Algiz, because I want to protect the people who want to protect me."

She hears the unspoken ending there, the "from himself" lays thick between them, cold and bitter, but Natsu is smiling, and Lucy can't help but return the quirk of lips, smaller and sadder than his, but a smile nonetheless.

Lucy steps forward into his chest, arms coming up to curl around his waist, holding him tightly. He inhales sharply at the unexpected contact, but melts into her quickly, his own arms coming around to engulf her, tugging her closer to his broad chest. Her cheek ends up pressed to his bare skin, his jacket unbuttoned towards the top. Brass bites into her skin, but she ignores it, arms squeezing around him. Natsu's head drops to rest against her crown, warm breath puffing against her hair.

They stay there until the storm hits.

* * *

Lucy drops down beside Natsu, crossing her legs beneath her and tucking herself close to his side. The rock behind her is warm from where the two of them have been pressed against it, cold stone leeching away at their body heat. She shifts closer to his side, frozen ground nipping at her bare legs, Lucy's socks left out to dry beside the fire, too wet to be of much use to her. Natsu snickers at her swearing, and Lucy sends him a nasty look in reply, but there's no heat to it.

Twisting to face him, Lucy shifts, wiggling so that her cold toes slip beneath his thigh, pressed between him and the ground. She sighs in immediate relief as his heat sinks into her ice-bitten skin, the result instantaneous. If he minds, he doesn't say so, merely leaning into the wall behind him and glancing at the fire, his own legs stretched out towards the flames, so close that she's almost afraid his toes will burn. Natsu, however, show's no signs of discomfort, appearing at ease so close to the fire.

Sometimes she forgets, not what he is—who he is, but simply how different he acts from what she's been told, little things, really. All her life she was told that Berserkers are something monstrous, something that can't feel or simply doesn't care, but she knows how wrong that is now. Not all are good, she knows, Lucy's witnessed that with her own eyes, once when she was very young.

Natsu is different that anything she could have expected. She knows how strong he is, how brutal he can be in a fight. She knows that he snap a man's neck like nothing and that he could crush her if he ever wanted to. She also knows that he would never do that, not to her, at least. Lucy has nothing to fear from Natsu and his crooked smile and gentle hands, though his personality is loud and gruff at times. Besides that first day, he's never been anything but careful with her.

He's a far cry soft, but Lucy knows he wouldn't hurt her, not intentionally. He's not a monster, he's not anything people may have called him. He's just— _Natsu_.

Outside, the wind screams as it races by, the storm raging only a few feet from where they're sitting, roaring in anger when it can't find them tucked away in the side of the mountain, hidden just out of sight.

She thinks an Old God must be furious with the was the storm howls, barred from them by a thick blanket from Lucy's bag, Natsu managing to pin the fabric over the cave opening from the inside, securing it by ripping small holes in the corner and slipping them around sharp juts in the wall. It's held, surprisingly, blocking out most of the cold and snow, though they've been fighting to keep the smoke from lingering in the small space.

While they may not be buried alive, the smoke may still get to them, especially if they aren't careful.

"We can't have the fire going at night," she tells Natsu suddenly, curling so that she's pressed against his side, knowing they'll need to put out the fire sooner than later. They're both exhausted from nearly two weeks worth of running through mountains and snow, rarely finding a decent place to make camp, their spots always too open, both to the cold and to any prying eyes that could be watching. Lucy doesn't want to risk one of them falling asleep and accidentally killing them both. "The smoke will suffocate us."

He doesn't look away from the fire, the silhouette of a flame dancing in his dark eyes when she glances up at him, propping her chin on her bend knees, toes wiggling beneath him. Natsu suddenly blinks away from the fire, head snapping around to look at her, expression pinched as he looks down at her shivering frame.

Natsu's gaze locks with hers, warm and concerned and Lucy could swear that he's seeing right through her, picking her apart from the inside out. Her tongue feels loose suddenly, and she's all too aware of the burning in her arm, a lingering pain she's grown used to over the weeks they've been together. The urge to tell him springs to the forefront of her mind, Lucy's lips parting slightly—

Her teeth clack together as she shuts her mouth, words catching in her throat, choking her. She swallows them back down, hating herself for not being able to say them, for not knowing why the words won't come out.

He doesn't appear to notice, reaching out and hooking a hand around her legs, palm warm against her calf. His thumb rubs against her paler skin, Natsu's hands so dark compared to her own. His calloused fingertips draw paths against her, tracing an old scar from a time when she lost a fight with an old friend, Jellal taller than her and better versed in knife fighting. He was her teacher, after all.

Drawing circles on her skin, Natsu's hands are warm against her, chasing away the cold but also tickling her, Lucy biting her lip to keep from laughing with each teasing brush of his fingers.

He sighs through his nose, pursing his lips as he draws a line from the back of her knee down to her ankle, her sprain healed completely, the swelling having gone some time ago. "We could take down the blanket," he suggests, though even he winces at the thought, blanching.

If it wasn't storming so badly, it would be a decent idea, but taking down the blanket would only let snow in, even as the smoke slipped out.

"It would just let in the cold," she tells him, reaching out and placing a hand over his knee, giving him a brief squeeze in thanks for the suggestion, even if it wasn't one they could use. Her hand lingers, fingers tapping against his covered skin. He squeezes her calf in response, pressing his thigh tighter against her shins.

Natsu nods, exhaling heavily and wrinkling his nose. He glances towards the low burning fire a few feet from them, the flame small from not being fed, both to reduce smoke and also to keep them from burning in the small space. "So no fire," he murmurs, nodding slowly. It isn't a question and they both know it.

"No fire," she agrees sadly, sending him a small smile. He grins back at her, green eyes filled with warmth as he squeezes her leg once more, gently, releasing her a moment later, though not pulling away entirely.

He hesitates a moment, hand hanging in the air between them, and Lucy's twitch as she suddenly shifts, twisting to press herself against his side. Her toes aren't cold anymore, after all. The heat from him seeps into her side, lessening the ache from her shoulder and making her sigh. It's been so finicky lately, never sure what it wants.

"Are you sure?" Natsu murmurs, looking down at her in concern. Lucy ignores the question, flashing his a quick smile before catching his hand in both of hers. He's chilly, though not as much so as she is. Lucy brushes her thumb across the back of his hand, working to warm them both, though she knows the cold doesn't affect him. Natsu laughs at her efforts, acknowledging her silent affirmation. He wriggles his hand from her grasp, tossing it over her shoulders instead, chasing away the cold.

They're silent for some time, caught between listening to the wind and watching the fire crackle, sparks floating away in little wisps, more like fireflies than anything else. Natsu relaxes beside her, the last of the tension leaving him as the night grows darker, hours later.

Lucy grows tired of the silence after some time, a restlessness pulling at her gut. "So every Berserk chooses a rune?" she asks him, not sure where the question is coming from, but realizing it's something she's been curious about. She's noticed them on the others, each one slightly different, though she doesn't quite know what they mean.

Natsu startles beside her, head snapping around, eyes wide with shock. He blinks, and Lucy realizes a moment later that he's less surprised by the question and more so her usage of the word "Berserk" like him, something she's never done before. A cultural difference, she's noticed. She hadn't meant to say it, the word simply slipping out. Lucy hopes it's not taboo, not wanting to upset him.

Despite her worry, Natsu only smiles, expression going soft as he sends her a fond look. His fingers squeeze around her shoulder, touch gentle. "Yeah," he breathes back to her, the tips of his long fingers dipping down enough to tease her collar bone, Lucy shivering at the light touch. The pads of his fingers trace the curve of the bone, barely tickling the side of her throat before he pulls back, fingers going back to her arm, where he latches on with a firm grip.

"Are they all as noble as yours?" she jokes, tilting her head to meet his eyes. watching the shadows cast by the fire shift across his jaw, the muscle there jumping whenever he moves.

Natsu laughs, a low, deep rumble that Lucy can feel echo in her own chest, Natsu's entire body quivering with the sound. "Hardly," he tells her, still chuckling lightly. There's something dark in his eyes though, something a bit sad, or possibly disappointed. "Some desire wealth, some destruction." He shrugs, humor slipping from his face as he sighs.

"How do you choose?" she asks, voice barely a whisper between them, Lucy afraid to speak too loud and shatter the gentle silence that's come over them.

He tightens his grip on her arm, giving her a quick squeeze. "Some just know," he says softly. Natsu glances down at her, wetting his lips as he holds her gaze. "It—" he cuts off suddenly, eyes narrowing as he considers what to say. "It calls to them," Natsu settles with, eyes locking with hers. "Sometimes in dreams." He smiles. "And you just know that's what you want most," he whispers, "all the way in your bones."

Lucy swallows, eyes searching his face, though she doesn't know what for. "Did you know?" she says, head tilting to one side curiously. She thinks he must have, there's something about Natsu that screams protective, screams that he wants to help others, no matter the cost to him. Something like that doesn't come suddenly, it's nurtured from a very young age, growing slowly but surely.

Natsu doesn't hesitate in his response, grinning down at her widely, all sharp teeth, canines flashing in the low light. "From the moment I saw it," he admits.

Lucy nods slowly, glancing down at his bare chest, no blue marking in sight. She hasn't seen it since the first day, though she doesn't know if it's for lack of paint or not. "Do you miss it?" she asks, Natsu frowning in confusion at the odd question. Lucy wets her lips, shrugging slightly. "I know you were wearing it when we first met, but it washed away," she clarifies, feeling foolish for asking. "Do you miss it?" Lucy repeats.

If he does, Lucy is sure they can find something to use in Bosco, unless a specific kind is needed. That may be a bit harder to procure, but she'd try.

Natsu startles her by laughing, though only lightly, a hint of amusement in his tone. "There's nothing to miss," he tells her softly, leaning down to knock his temple against hers lightly. " 'To live and die by the runes,' " he tells her gently, "that's what—" Natsu stops suddenly, shaking his head slowly. "Whether we wear them or not," he explains, so low she almost can't hear him, "we feel them in our bones." He grins. "They're a part of us, more than just paint on skin."

* * *

 **AN: edited 4/21/18**


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED: 4/21/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twenty One**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

 _Natsu wakes up to screaming. He jolts into a sitting position, blinking rapidly to clear his cloudy mind, squinting at the harsh sunlight. Only, that isn't right. It should be nighttime right now, not the middle of the day. He rubs at his eyes, yawning and glances through the iron bars surrounding his cage, peering at whatever's outside. He's surprised to see the arena full, seats lined with spectators, all of them cheers and screaming foul words. The lights are on in the stadium, great lacrima, light caused by harnessing the magic of Fae, the crystals costing nothing short of a fortune._

 _In the center of the arena, two Berserks tear at each other, snapping and snarling, colliding and kicking up sand as they bash each other around. And there's blood, so much blood, and the sand is stained a deep red, dirtying the stark, white sand. There's a great roar as the pair clash, from the Berserks or from the crowd, Natsu can't be sure. The cry grows as one Berserk savages the other, teeth digging into his opponents shoulder and shaking him brutally, tearing at flesh and bone, ripping him apart. Blood spurts across the sand, pouring from the wound, a river more than a trickle._

 _They separate and Natsu feels sick as he sees the gore, blood dripping from fangs and coating lips in a gruesome smile. They bare their teeth, circling around each other, and Natsu winces as he sees the smaller opponent. His entire left side is a bloody mess, his chest bare, claw marks ripping open his chest from left to right, big, gaping lines nearly hidden by the red mess. His mark has been wiped away, blue paint smeared and streaked with blood, too blurred for Natsu to tell what it was. His shoulder is ripped to the bone, Natsu just barely able to see it from where he sits in his cage._

 _The screaming returns, but it doesn't come from the rings. He snaps around, looking towards the door, concern nipping at him. He stands slowly, legs wobbling beneath him. Igneel is there, blocking the entrance with his body, snarling at a guard standing just outside. They have swords, clubs hefted over their shoulders, and Igneel is screaming "you can't take him! you can't take him!" but they aren't listening. The door unlocks with a click, metal creaking as the door is forced open._

 _Igneel roars, still screaming and trying to push them back, but there are three of them, and they hit Igneel. One. Twice. They haven't fed him in three days and he goes down, still screaming, still begging, but they don't listen, merely shoving around him. Snarling something Natsu can't hear, words drowned by the roar of blood in his ears._

 _They spot him, exchanging quiet words. Igneel doesn't get up, just lies there on the floor, and there's the blood on his head, his face. He wheezes when he breathes, still begging them not to take him._

 _They come for him anyway._

 _He blinks, and suddenly he's standing in the arena, older, but not by much. He blinks down at his hands, sees the blood on his palms and stuck beneath his fingernails, so deep he isn't sure it'll wash off. His hands are shaking, entire body quivering in absolute terror. His head hurts, lip cracked and bleeding, blood dripping from his nose and dribbling down his chin. When he breathes he wheezes, ribs rattling in his chest, cracked or maybe broken, he can't be sure._

 _Confused, he looks up, seeing a man twice his head towering over him, lean muscle coiled around his arms, his shoulders as broad as Natsu's entire torso. The man snarls, baring his teeth, before lunging. Natsu is knocked onto his back in dirt, sand whirling around them and getting into his eyes. It stings, tears burning at his eyes, and he whines, struggling to get back up. A hand strikes his face, shoving him down, and then a foot lashes out against his stomach. Natsu gags, throwing up the contents of his stomach. It's followed by another blow, and then another and another until he can barely breathe. He begs for it to stop._

 _It doesn't. It won't._

 _He must black out, because he opens his eyes and suddenly he's not in the ring anymore. He's back in his cage, pressed back into the farthest corner from the door. He's lying on his side, back pressed against cool metal that soothes the aches in his spine. He coughs softly, spitting out blood, and wrinkles his nose, frowning in confusion as he looks around, wondering how he's still alive. They never let the losers live, not on the night of the new moon. They call it the bloodbath. Five fights; five deaths. Those are the rules._

 _He squeezes his eyes shut, biting back a pained whimper when his head begins to pound, Natsu feeling like someone is holding his skull and squeezing. The ache starts in his temples, spreading until Natsu can hardly breathe it hurts so bad._

 _Igneel leans over him. He smiles, lips pulling back to reveal his teeth in a wide grin. There's bruises on his face, blood on his mouth and coating his jaw. Igneel reaches out slowly, knuckles tapping against Natsu's cheek in a gently punch, little more than a caress against Natsu's face. His lips move, Natsu unable to hear him._

 _He gives a sad smile, reaching out to ruffle Natsu's hair gently. Igneel's own hair falls into his eyes, thick and red, matted with blood at his temple. He blinks at Natsu, eyes dark and sad. Natsu tries to smile back, but it pulls at the cut on his lip, making him wince. He blinks in and out of consciousness for several minutes, Igneel hovering over him the entire time, always smiling for him._

" _You're all right, Kid," he murmurs, stroking Natsu's hair away from his eyes, gaze worried as he checks Natsu for a fever. "You're all right."_

 _He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them he's kneeling in the dirt, vomit high in his throat. Confusion sweeps through him, Natsu's eyes wide with terror. He's in a line, Berserks on either side of him, some crying, pleading, others silent and strong. There's a wet, strangled sound from down the line, a sharp cry. Natsu doesn't look, his eyes finding Igneel's in the dark. His teeth grind together, Igneel blinking at him slowly._

 _His breaths come in short, sharp gasps, Natsu finding it harder and harder to draw air into his lungs. Igneel mouths at him to "breathe, Natsu, just breathe" as he shuffles forward across the sand, trying to help him. He's kicked back, his head snapping around so hard that Natsu almost screams. Igneel just ignores it, turning to Natsu with a wide grin, all teeth and bleeding gums, blood dripping down his face and a bruise rapidly forming on his cheek. Again, he tells Natsu to breathe._

 _Igneel tells him it'll be okay, that everything will be okay, and Natsu believes him, sucking in greedy gulps of air as he stares across the sand at his father. Natsu's heart stutters in his chest, his hands trembling in the dirt beside him. He blinks away tears, trying to be strong like Igneel. He gains an encouraging smile in return, Igneel mouthing nonsense at him, just promising they'd be okay, that Natsu would be okay, he just has to breathe._

 _Another ripping sound, a scream cut off too early, choking, metal through flesh and bone. The scent of death rots the air, choking him. It overwhelms him, burning his nose and throat, and he can't hold back the bile any longer. It spills out onto the ground, sticking to his lips and chin, splattering against the sand, mixing with blood from the fights and his own tears._

 _Igneel looks terrified when he looks up, but his expression is blocked by a pair of boots stepping in front of him. His gaze rises higher, taking in billowing gold, and deep red, and Natsu knows it's the King before he sees the crown. There's a manic look in his eyes, cold and cruel and Natsu flinches. His stomach twists sickly, but he swallows it down, putting on a brave face to mask his terror. He meets the King's eyes. Unafraid. Horrified. It's what Igneel told him to do._

 _The King laughs. He crouches, meeting Natsu's unflinching gaze. He reaches out to touch him, but Natsu snarls, snapping at him. His head snaps back, the King striking him. Something cold presses to his throat, Natsu having no time to think as the blade rips across the thin skin of his. He falls sideways, a roaring in his ear, hands groping at the open wound on his neck in horror. A wet sound tears from his throat._

 _He finds Igneel's eyes. His father lunges for the King, bellowing in rage and knocking two men aside to come to Natsu's aid. A blade tears through his chest—_

Natsu jolts awake, gasping for breath and clawing at his neck in sheer terror, he sputters, coughing and wheezing. Tears burn at his eyes, a ragged sob tearing from somewhere deep in his chest. Eyes squeezing shut, Natsu feels his heart crawl into his throat, his entire body trembling. Igneel's face appears behind his closed lids, dark eyes blank and unseeing, blood welling from the wound on his chest, heart ceasing to beat almost immediately, Natsu's name on his lips. He promised they'd be okay. Igneel promised him they'd both be okay. He fucking _promised him_ and—

It was Natsu's fault. Igneel was only trying to help, he didn't know that Natsu wasn't going to die—that the wound would leave a gruesome scar, but it wouldn't kill him. He was the first to be chosen that night, the King liked the look in his eyes, his defiance and his rage, fear hidden away behind a mask. Igneel didn't know that Natsu would live, that they _both_ would have lived. If Natsu had just kept his head down maybe Igneel would still be alive now—maybe if they knew what was happening—

His throat closes up, emotion welling beneath his skin and choking him. He curls in on himself, dimly realizing that he can't breathe, not even a little. His lungs start screaming, his hands trembling against the ground beneath him. His skin feels clammy, itchy, and when he shifts he feels tense, like his skin is beginning to split, not enough to wrap around his larger frame.

Natsu wishes he could take it all back, wishes that he could go back to the Red Night and do everything different. If he had just kept his head down, made himself smaller than he was, maybe the King wouldn't have chosen him at all, wouldn't have spared him a glance before moving down the line. Igneel wouldn't have died then. The King would have kept him—Igneel was strong, he would have made a good soldier, even if he would have hated the Centari just as much as Natsu did.

Gasping for breath, a muffled whine slips passed Natsu's lips, sounding all too loud in the silence of the room. He hears movement from behind him, can feel Lucy still pressed against his back, curled against him to stay warm in the chill of the night. He can hear her soft breathes, feel her hair tickling the bare skin of his back. Natsu suddenly remembers that he's not alone here, that he hasn't been alone for some time now.

His teeth snap together with a clack. Igneel sweeps back into his thoughts, clouding over his rationality and ripping him far away from the cave in Mithriel. He's taken back to Fiore, to the rings, and suddenly he's standing over Igneel—brave Igneel who treated him more like a son than his parents ever did.

They never got to say goodbye. There were no parting words, no sound besides the slick, wet crunching of a sword tearing through flesh and muscle and bone. Igneel was dead before he even hit the ground. Natsu wishes he could have told Igneel he was sorry, that he loved him, but he hates himself for wanting the, knowing Igneel would have been in pain.

He thinks that having his heart ripped out that day would have hurt less than watching Igneel bleed out in the sand, more still than Natsu had ever seen him.

It was his fault Igneel died.

Sobbing, Natsu doesn't hear Lucy awaken, stirred by the sounds of his cries and his thrashing. She doesn't say a word as he sobs, only curls against his back, arms wrapping around his front and holding him close. Her arms coil around him tightly, holding him steady against her, calming his jerking frame. Gently, she rests a cool palm against his burning skin, fingers splayed over his rapidly beating heart. He can feel her lips against the back of his neck, Lucy murmuring something he can't quite make out, a lullaby he things, something slow and soft meant to soothe him.

Immediately, he's sorry to have waken her, not meaning for his nightmare to keep her awake. It isn't fair for him to push his dreams onto her, not when he knows she has her fair share of them as well. Hers are quieter, little more than a light gasp when she wakes, her limbs jerking slightly. She always curls closer against him on those nights, just enough for him to notice.

Lucy noses the back of his neck, continuing to sing quietly in his ear. The tongue isn't Fiorian, but something lighter, sweeter. A Fae language, he thinks, feeling himself slowly beginning to relax against her. There's something calming in the words, even if he can't make out what they are. Tinged with magic, possibly, though he can't be sure. He doesn't know if Faeborne can weave spells into their words, or if Lucy just has the ability to calm others, but Natsu finds himself able to breathe again.

His hand comes up to cover hers, his fingers trembling. Her arm squeezes around his torso in response, Lucy's singing slipping into little more than a hum. Natsu calms slowly, his heart returning to a normal rate, hands still clammy, skin slick with sweat. He must have been tossing in his sleep. Wincing, he can only hope that he didn't flail or kick, not wanting to have hurt Lucy on accident.

She doesn't seem like she would care either way, letting him sob and jerk in her grasp, low whines pulling from his throat every few seconds. He's openly crying in her arms at this point, loud sounds echoing off the walls of the cave, sounding like roars in the dead silence of the night.

Shame burns in his chest, not because of his tears or his emotions, but because he's keeping her awake. He knows she's just as exhausted as him, more so, given she isn't blessed with the strength of an ancient God, but he's woken her. She's so close he can hear her blink sleepily against his back, her voice hoarse as she murmurs against his skin, promising that he's okay.

They stay like that for a long moment, Natsu a quivering mess and Lucy holding him together, resting firm against his back with her arms tight around him. She continues whispering in his ears: little things, wisps of songs he doesn't know, stories he's never heard, fairy tales about dragons and monsters and soldiers, anything to hold his attention and keep his from slipping away.

Fingers stroke his sweaty hair, brushing the strands away from his face. His skin slowly begins to cool, not nearly as warm as it had been, a testament to his heightened emotions. Soon, his heart begins to slow, less erratic, growing steady though just as loud as before. Eventually, Natsu sighs, relaxing against Lucy when he realizes he can finally breathe normally. She doesn't release him, however, not until his sobs turn to hiccups and he feels utterly drained, not having had a nightmare for some time, not since before he left the capital.

Lucy gives him a squeeze, shifting to prop her chin against his shoulder, lips by his ear. "You okay?" she asks him gently, Natsu having to strain to hear her voice, words muffled by the screaming wind he hadn't noticed before. He doesn't answer her, teeth grinding together. Natsu isn't sure how to respond, because, no, he doesn't think that he is, not right now.

She noses at the side of his neck, bumping the scar on his throat and making him wince. "Are you okay?" she repeats, louder this time, thinking he simply hadn't heard her. There's something desperate in her voice, something pleading with him to answer her. His chest squeezes, Natsu managing a stiff nod that he doesn't think is very convincing. He feels her relax against him, relieved with his acknowledgment. She squeezes at his arm gently, thumb rubbing at his skin soothingly. "Natsu, what's wrong?"

He tries to answer, voice crackling he mumbles something even he can't make out. Lucy shifts closer, practically blanketing him. He's surrounded by her scent, stardust and something a bit like honey, thick and warm, sweet-smelling. Again, he feels horrible for keeping her awake, wondering if he stays silent for long enough she might simply go back to sleeping.

The thought is shaken away as quickly as it comes, Natsu snorting silently. He knows her better than that, knows she would never just leave him when she thinks he needs her. She's too caring to do something like that, he's seen it in her eyes. When she cares about someone, even the slightest, she would move mountains for them if they asked her to. But he's not, asking her to, that is. Lucy will wait until he does, he knows, staying up with him all night to make sure he's okay.

A small smile pulls at his lips, Natsu managing to swallow down a soft sob when he feels her fingers tracing patters across his chest, so light he almost doesn't notice.

She's not going anywhere.

He releases a shaky exhale, slowly relaxing against her. Natsu wets his lips, swallowing thickly and trying to clear his throat. In his mouth, his tongue feels heavy, thick and all too big. His mouth is dry, and when he tries to speak the first time, nothing comes out but a quivering sound. She doesn't press him, letting him take as much time as he needs. She'll be there, waiting until he's ready to talk.

"The rings," he finally chokes out, voice cracking horribly. He winces at the sound, eyes squeezing shut tightly for a long moment. He sees Igneel again—bloody and broken, unseeing gaze—and his green eyes snap back open. "Family," he mumbles, not making any sense. He stares at the mouth of the cave, watching at the worn blanket is thrashed around violently, barely holding against the storm. "I just—" He can't finish, shaking his head slowly.

Lucy nudges the crease where his jaw meets his neck, warm breath fanning against the side of his throat. She shifts behind him, knee bumping against the back of his leg gently. "What about them?" she murmurs against the shell of his ear, fingers carting through his hair slowly, removing small tangles with practiced ease. "Natsu?" she breathes his name, a hint of worry in her tone when he doesn't reply after a long moment. "Talk to me." She hesitates for a moment. "Please?"

He sighs, wetting his lips again. "I lost my dad," he finally tells her, "when they took us from Fiore." He winces, never having said the words aloud. He's never told anyone about Igneel, never breathed a word of him to anyone—never thought anyone deserved to know, not after what they all did, not after how they've treated him and any other Berserk they've come across. It was never their place to know how much he was hurt by it.

If they wanted to pretend he was some kind of monster that could feel nothing but rage, that's what he would be. They didn't deserve to know who he was, how much he could feel.

Lucy doesn't ask what he means, knowing by the tone of his voice that Igneel must have been lost to the slaughter of the Red Night, one of the many bodies left behind to rot, as if they had meant absolutely nothing.

She tangles her fingers through his, thumb gently rubbing across his knuckles, hand squeezing his with every other pass of her skin against his. She doesn't breathe a word, leaving him to his silence, not wanting to press. He almost wishes she would as he lets her play with his fingers; he isn't sure how much he'll be able to say without prompting.

But Lucy doesn't press, just holds his hand in hers, arms locked around him tightly.

Slowly, the tension leaves him, his nightmare slipping from his mind as his mouth moves without his permission. "Well," he corrects, shaking his head slowly, "he wasn't my dad." Natsu gives her hand a squeeze, smiling slightly as he allows himself to talk about Igneel for the first time in over a decade. "But he might as well have been." There's something cathartic about talking about him now, his heart squeezing as he speaks, but in a good way. He's missed Igneel—missed thinking about the good times. "He took care of me, taught me how to fight, made sure the guards stayed away from me…" he trails off.

"I was so young then," he murmurs, lifting his head from the ground to cast a quick look at Lucy, finding her already staring at him, watching his expression with a careful eye. He manages a smile for her, though it doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Six," he continues, guessing, "seven, maybe." Natsu wrinkles his nose, dropping his head back down with a tired sigh. "I knew him for less than four years, but he was family, you know?"

More of a family than his own. At least Igneel never abandoned him, handing him off to slave traders. He'll never forgive his family for that, not after everything he's been through.

Lucy's arms tighten around him, just enough for him to feel it. "Oh, Natsu," she murmurs against his ear, a sad note to her tone. She buries her face against the side of his neck, still carting her fingers through his messy, sweaty hair, doing whatever she can to keep him calm.

He hopes she isn't afraid of him. He won't lose his control, not here. Natsu won't hurt her, not so long as he can help it.

"They killed him," he tells Lucy gently, body deflating with a heavy sigh. Natsu catches his bottom lip between his teeth, sharp canines pricking at the thin layer of skin so hard hat he draws blood. "He was trying to protect me." Natsu's free hand clenches into a fist beside his face, nails digging into his palm. "And they killed him."

For a long moment silence surrounds them, thickening until Natsu can barely breathe. He takes a shaky breath, heart pounding and pulse screaming in his ears. Lucy doesn't speak, doesn't move, for a long second she doesn't even breathe, his words still laying heavy in the air between them as the wind howls outside.

"Why?" Lucy asks softly after several seconds, confusing him for a moment. His eyes narrow a tick. Pergrande doesn't need a reason for slaughter, for murder. They don't care who they hurt—and someone _will_ hurt. Someone always hurts. The King lives for pain, relishes in it. Why else would he massacre innocents? What sense is there in slaughter if it isn't meant to protect anyone.

He understands what she's asking a moment later. _Why_ was Igneel trying to protect him. Natsu tugs at her fingers, playing with them much as she did to him earlier. Smiling slightly, he runs his thumb along her knuckles slowly, feeling each bump beneath his fingers. "When he took us, he also scarred us," he tells her, shrugging. He doesn't mind the physical scar from that night. It isn't pretty, but it means he lived.

Lucy holds him closer. "You're neck," she murmurs sadly, nosing at the scar before her. Her nose is cold against his skin, and he shivers at her soft touch.

"They had us lined up in the arena," he says, watching as Lucy's fingers curl around his. His gaze snaps to the cave wall, eyes following the shape of a large crack from the floor to halfway up the side. "Forced us to get on our knees." Natsu spits it like a curse, a low growl rumbling in his chest, voice hoarse with a snarl. "Most of us were too young or too weak to do anything." Lucy's fingers tickle the palm of his hand. "He slaughtered anyone that tried."

She shifts behind him, slipping in closer to his warm back, a shiver wracking her body, the cold night seeping into her bones. Drawing nonsensical shapes against his calloused palm, Lucy asks him, "What was his name?"

He grins. "Igneel," he tells her proudly, voice cracking slightly. He hasn't said that name in so long. "His name was Igneel." Tears burn at his eyes, Natsu trying to blink them back, only for them to slip throw, leaving wet trails down the side of his face. "They would have kept him alive," he sobs, "he was strong. They would have let him live but—" He can't finish, shaking his head roughly.

Lucy hushes him gently, shifting to press her lips against his shoulders, not quite a kiss. "He was trying to save you," she reminds him quietly, breath ghosting against his bare arm.

"But why?" he asks her, laughing, though there's no humor to it. "What good would it have done?" Natsu snaps at her, growling, but Lucy only holds him tighter, unconcerned with his sudden anger.

Her fingers wiggle out of his, coming up to wipe away his tears with soft brushes from her thumb. "Maybe he thought you were someone worth saving," she tells him honestly, his heart cracking in his chest, sobs coming back full force. Lucy never once lets him go.

* * *

 **AN: edited 4/21/18. I'll try to update a chapter or two tomorrow.**


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED: 4/28/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twenty Two**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Natsu drifts into wakefulness slowly, the pull of sleep still grasping at him tightly, not wanting to let him go. It's a slow process, his eyes blinking open slowly, lids heavy and head fuzzy. For a long moment he thinks he's back in his ice prison, movements slow and stiff, sleepy. He can hardly move—hardly think. It's like coming out of a daze, he's tired and warm and kind find it in him to move from where he's sprawled across the ground. His thoughts are like honey, thick with the smell of something sweet still lingering in the air.

With a groan, he finally manages to break free from the grasp of slumber, eyes blinking faster as he fights to stay awake. For a moment he's confused, unable to remember where he is or how he got here, but his mind settles after a blind moment of panic. He sighs, relaxing against the cave floor with a tired laugh, though there's nothing humorous about the situation.

Yawning, Natsu stretches his limbs, bones making a satisfying crack as he twists around, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his spine. He stares at the cave wall beside him, cracking his fingers one by one, frowning as his eyes follow the shape of a crack in the wall. The split winds high in the rock, stopping about halfway to the top. It's relatively small, nothing special, but he knows cracks like that always grow, too large to be mended but too small to be worrisome. They can cause trouble for those who aren't careful.

He rests his head against the cool ground, chill of the rock floor stinging at his forehead for only a moment before his natural heat wards it away, tuning the biting cold into a more pleasant cool feeling, soothing his burning skin. He must have overheated during the night, more so due to his emotions than any actual temperature. Nightmares always make his body feel itchy in the morning, like his skin is trying to peel back and release some of the heat inside of him.

Natsu pulls a face at the thought, disgust crawling into his throat. It's a nasty picture, he thinks, to image his skin peeled back, exposing his muscle and bone to the winter air. He can't imagine the pain it would cause.

Sighing to himself, Natsu shakes his head. Scratchy fabric brushes against his arm, drawing his rapt attention. A blanket has been tucked around him sometime during the night, though the cloth is tangled around him now, most wound tight with his legs, though a corner still stretches up his back, winding around his elbow.

Expression softening, Natsu thinks about Lucy, about how she stayed up with him for half the night, murmuring nonsense in his ear and giving him reassurance that nothing was his fault. He doesn't know how long it took them to finally drift off, just that she never once let him go, holding him together through the night as best she could.

A moment later, Natsu realizes she's gone, no longer pressed against his back like she was for the majority of the night. A burst of panic wells in his chest, but it quells almost instantly, Natsu knowing she wouldn't simply disappear on him, not after last night. Besides, Lucy is free to go where she pleases, it's not up to him to be her keeper, especially when he knows she wouldn't like it in the slightest.

Dimly, he realizes he can't hear the wind screaming any longer. The silence is strange after hearing the howling for two days and nights, almost eerie in how still the world sounds, like time has been frozen—too quiet, too motionless. It's what he imagines death is like, blankness and maybe something else.

He believes in the Old Gods, he always will, though he can't be sure an afterlife exits, maybe not for the Berserks—not for him.

With a snort, Natsu shakes away his thoughts. He pushes himself to his feet slowly, limbs heavy from his slumber. The blanket slips to the ground, tangling with his legs and nearly tripping him when he twists around, casting a quick glance around their makeshift shelter. The fire is burning low, likely only started several minutes ago, no more than ten. Lucy's bag sits close to the entrance, the blanket pinned up to let the air in—cold still, but the wild wind has stopped.

Figuring Lucy must be outside, Natsu shakes himself off, yawning silently as he runs his hand through his hair, squinting at the light spilling in, eyes still sensitive from being kept in the dark for the past few days. He hesitates, swallowing thickly and staring at the ground, unsure what he wants to do.

He thinks he should apologize for keeping her awake last night, knowing she was as tired as him, even if she wouldn't say so aloud. It would make him feel better, at the very least. His guilt is unwarranted, he knows. Natsu shouldn't have to apologize for feeling—but it's what he was trained for. Only anger was ever allowed, and even then it was a specific, violent kind of rage with a purpose of making others hurt.

Wobbling, Natsu bites at his lip, shoulders tensing as he questions what he should do. He thinks it might be best to get it done with, to clean the wound before it festers into something worse. He'd rather talk to her now, instead of having it eat away at his thoughts for hours and hours.

Making his decision, Natsu takes a careful step forward, edging towards the door quietly. He breathes a soft sigh when he ducks beneath the blanket, smiling slightly as he sees the hasty pinning job that Lucy did, the girl obviously eager to step outside for the first time in days.

She was more antsy than him, clearly not used to being kept in small spaces. He knows she didn't like it, the tight space made her nervous, Lucy constantly shifting as best she could. He guesses she would have begun to pace the room, if only there was more space.

Grinning to himself, Natsu ducks under the flap and steps into the sunlight for the first time in days. He immediately looks away, blinded by the sudden brightness. A hand comes up to cover his face, Natsu slowly squinting his eyes open, peeking out at the icy landscape, his smile only widening as he stares at the snow and clear skies.

The snow sparkles in the morning light, the sunrise turning the snow shades of red and pale orange far off towards the horizon. There's no wind that Natsu can feel, a slight breeze but nothing stronger. It isn't nearly as cold as he was expecting, the temperature higher that usual after a storm, but Natsu can't say that he minds much, enjoying the feel of the sun on his bare chest as he steps forward. The snow on the mountains nips at his bare toes, but he hardly notices as he takes another stride, then another until he's near the edge, looking down across the miles and miles of ice and snow. If he squints, he thinks he can just barely see the crests from the Iskal Mountains in the north, the peaks high as they arch over the coast of the White Sea.

He takes a deep breath, crisp winter air filling his lungs. For a moment, it stings, the ice burning at his lungs, unaccustomed to bitter cold, but then they relax, remembering the touch of the north. Natsu takes another deep breath, surprised by how good it feels not to suck in warm musty air. He much prefers the bite of winter to the hints of smoke swirling in his lungs.

Ripping his gaze from the horizon, Natsu peers around the little cliff they've settled on, Gaze sweeping around the area as he searches for Lucy, finding her easily, her hair glinting gold in the morning light, so different from the stark, sharper beauty of Mithriel. He stares for a long moment, watching the light reflect off her messy, tangled hair. His head tilts to one side, eyes narrowing just the slightest as he looks at her, a wide grin pulling at his lips as he sees the beautiful smile on her own face, Lucy looking happier than he's ever seen her before.

She doesn't notice him at first, or perhaps she just pretends not to. Natsu takes a step towards her, Lucy curled against the mountain face in a small spot devoid of snow, legs dangling over the edge of the cliff and swinging lightly. She looks up as he moves closer, smile growing larger as she sees him, though she says nothing.

Natsu hesitates a moment, hovering over her and gauging her reactions to him. He thinks he hears her huff, Lucy simply grinning before turning back to the scenery, waiting for him to make a decision, though not pressing him to do such.

His fingers curl into fists at his sides, Natsu swallowing thickly as he glances down at the snowy space on her right. Making a choice, he settles into the spot beside her, movements slow and careful as he lowers himself onto the ground, mindful of the snow and ice. Lucy shifts slightly to the left, making room for him on the clear space. Natsu takes it, thigh pressing against Lucy's as he slides in close to her, avoiding the snow as much as he can.

Neither breathe a word for some time, the pair staring at the ground below until the sunrise gives way to clear blue, not a cloud to be seen for miles. A light breeze drifts by, ruffling their hair but doing little else. Lucy curls tighter into her jacket, wearing it more like a blanket than anything. It's loose around her, buttons left undone and fabric hanging off her shoulders, revealing a sliver of her upper arm.

She appears not to notice the cold, content to bask in the sunlight, at ease despite the freezing temperature. Lucy hums lowly, Natsu straining to hear a vaguely familiar tune. He realizes with a start that it's the same one she sang last night, murmuring it against his ear to calm him. He can't hear the words now, but he can tell the melody, soft and a bit sad, he thinks the words would break his heart if he could hear them.

Natsu stays silent, unsure what to say, though doesn't seem to mind, continuing to hum for several minutes as he gains his bearings. Her fingers tap against the ground near his leg, a steady rhythm, and Natsu finds himself relaxing with ever pass of her nails against the stone beneath them.

"Storm's passed," she remarks casually after a long moment, turning towards him slowly. She doesn't say anything else, simply watches him with a careful eye, gauging him as much as he is her. Natsu supposes she has more right to be watchful, witnessing him breakdown as much as he did, he would be cautious too, so close to a Berserk about to snap. She doesn't look nervous, however, only concerned.

His throat bobs with a hard swallow, Natsu turning away from her quickly, shame bubbling beneath his skin. His mouth is dry, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, Natsu unable to find the right words to reply. "Yeah," he settles with, wincing at the crack in the single word.

If Lucy notices, she doesn't comment, her eyes going back to the rising sun. The rays make her light brown eyes turn a fiery gold that catches his breath. "You feeling better now?" she asks him, still not looking at him. Natsu focuses on the shifting colors in her eyes. "I know it took you awhile to fall asleep again," she murmurs, softer this time. Her expression turns sad, Lucy sighing as she turns to peer up at him.

When she looks at him he can see how exhausted she really is. Her smile is bright, but it doesn't hide the bags under her eyes, only distracts from them. She looks pretty as always, but her hair is a mess, her clothes rumpled on her frame, Lucy looking smaller and less lively than he's ever seen her.

He winces. "Lucy, I'm—"

"Don't," she cuts him off sharply, expression stern when she looks at him, gaze piercing him and holding him in place. She doesn't look angry, only firm in what she has to say. Her gaze softens slightly when he stiffens. She doesn't smile, but her face loses some of its ferocity. "Don't you dare tell me you're sorry," she tells him, rubbing at her left arm absentmindedly. He follows the motion with his eyes, noting that she's been doing it a lot more recently. "Not when there's nothing to apologize for," she finishes, sending him a half-smile.

He stares at her arm for a moment longer, a strange feeling twisting at his stomach, something sick crawling into his throat. He wants to ask, but doesn't want to press her, not when he's only known her for roughly a month. If Lucy thinks it's something important, she'll tell him. He has faith in that.

His eyes snap back up to hers, Natsu slowly registering her words. A frown pulls at his lips, his eyes narrowing just a tick in confusion. He thinks he has plenty to apologize for, even if she doesn't seem to agree. "I kept you awake," he reminds her gently, reaching out to tap a finger against her thigh pointedly, noticing the weary look in her eyes.

She only laughs, shaking her head slowly. Her eyes light up with amusement, her expression cheeky. He thinks she's going to make a joke, but then her expression shifts into something more serious. "It doesn't matter," she says. Natsu can see something honest in her eyes and knows that no matter what he says she won't blame him for anything that happened last night, more concerned for him than a few hours of sleep.

"I shouldn't have dropped all of that on you," he tries to argue, more for the sake of keeping the conversation alive than any really desire to make her agree with him. He feels a bit lighter, knowing that she doesn't appear to care about his moment of weakness in the slightest, just wanting him to be happy and nothing else.

"It doesn't matter," she repeats, echoing his words from when they were watching Jorah burn into nothing. She reaches out slowly, carefully, and catches his hand in hers, grasping at his warm palm gently. "If you _ever_ need to talk," she tells him seriously, looking him right in the eyes, gaze piercing, "I will listen." It's a promise, he knows, and Lucy doesn't seem the type to break them. "Don't ever think I won't."

His shoulders relax, Natsu giving a sharp nod in response. He grasps her fingers tightly in his, squeezing her palm tenderly, Lucy's skin smooth against his. "I know you will," he responds softly, smiling, voice barely above a whisper.

"Good," she says, grip tightening on his palm, thumb brushing against his knuckles in a constant back and forth, almost absentminded in her movements.

Natsu sighs, thinking about he own nightmares, not as violent in reaction as his, but just as mentally taxing. "I'll listen, too," he promises, leaning in to whisper in her ear, his temple pressed to hers. "I know you have them, sometimes," he tells her, wincing when he feels Lucy stiffen. He squeezes her fingers, silently telling her it's okay. "You think I don't notice, but I do."

Lucy doesn't say anything in response, only nods, so small he almost doesn't feel it.

* * *

The sun is beginning to dip in the sky by the time they begin to slow for the day, having made it several miles during their trek. He asked Lucy earlier how far she thought they'd gone, but she couldn't be sure, her best estimate being roughly twenty some miles, give or take. They were moving slower than before, despite the lack of wind pushing them back, the snow was as high as it was before, higher now. It was affecting them both, Lucy hardly able to walk at times and even Natsu having trouble, his feet more prone to stick in the snow than they were previously.

He counts his blessings that it didn't storm for another day, the snow would be up to their waists if the bad weather had continued. Surely, it would have been a funny sight to see the pair of them stumbling through the high snow, but neither of them feel safe in this country, always watching their backs for anyone that could be following them. Though, Natsu is finding that to be more difficult as time goes on. The breeze is coming towards them, leaving Natsu unable to sense anyone at their backs until it would be too late and they would already be surrounded or worse.

Natsu can only hope that somehow they would know danger is coming. There are no Fairy Trees to help them this time, no one to warn them about danger that might be coming. For the first time, the two of them are truly alone out here, both unfamiliar with the territory and relying on their senses and common knowledge. They may not have the constant fear of being followed by the King's soldiers anymore, but they aren't safe, not yet.

They've been pushing through though, doing their best to follow the mountains and finding supplies when they can. Lucy is more of an adept hunter than he expected, though he should have known better than to underestimate her. He already knew she was a good shot, he just didn't know how good.

It's only thanks to her that they haven't been going hungry, Natsu practically useless when it comes to survival skills, at least with anything that involves patience. He was never taught to shoot an arrow or skin a rabbit with only three cuts, though he's been learning, slow as it may be.

Lucy is a patient teacher, more so than he ever could have expected, always there to guide him with her own hands.

He's been doing his best too keep up, but his hands just don't have the same years of practice, his fingers not nearly as deft as hers when it comes to using a knife.

She doesn't seem to mind, merely offering encouragements and telling him old stories about how poorly she used to do mentioning sliced palms and messy cuts, mittens sewn unevenly. Lucy once mentioned he was doing better than Laxus, telling him that her cousin is practically useless when it comes to hunting, unable to properly skin an animal even after nearly near fifteen years of practicing.

He felt better after that.

Lucy stops in front of him so suddenly that he doesn't have time slow himself, slamming right into her back and nearly knocking her over, his hand lashing out to steady her before she can fall. Lucy, however, doesn't move a muscle, standing stock still. She doesn't react at all to him bumping into her, her tense against his chest.

Confused, he gives her hip a gentle squeeze, unsure what's wrong.

That's when he looks up.

Natsu gasps, eyes going wide was he takes in his surroundings, surprised he didn't smell it earlier. He takes a step back, pulling Lucy with him. She comes willingly, backing into his chest and shrinking away from what they've unintentionally walked into. A small, shaky breath slips passed her lips, so much horror in something so small. Natsu tears his gaze from the sight, eyes squeezing shut for only a moment.

They've stumbled upon bodies. A lot of them.

He lifts his arm slowly, grabbing Lucy's shoulder and forcing her around so that she's looking at him instead of the carnage. Lucy falls into his chest, an arm slipping around his back and squeezing. Natsu holds her tight against his chest, knowing she doesn't like to look at so much death.

It's a lot, even for him. Men, women, children, even animals, all slaughtered, ripped apart and spread out across the snow. Tents are destroyed, smashed to pieces and strewn across the ground carelessly. A fire burns low in the middle of the small camp, and Natsu knows these people only died within the last hour or two, no more than that.

Lucy's hand fists in his jacket for only a moment before she releases him, taking a small step back, just enough for her to turn back around. He keeps his arm around her, mostly for her sake, but for his own comfort as well. He doesn't like this, not even a little. They've been out here for over a week and haven't seen anything like this.

The pair of them stare at the destruction, the snow stained a violent red. Natsu tries not to look at the bodies—limbs ripped from their sockets, stomachs split open, insides strewn haphazardly across the ground. It's a mess, and Natsu knows that these people died slowly, most of their limbs removed while they were still awake.

He hears Lucy mumble something under her breath, but doesn't catch the words, her voice too low, rough with something unfamiliar. He remembers her reaction to Jorah and can only hope that she doesn't shut down on him again, not here when they're so close to Fiore and she's the only one that knows where to go.

She told him to follow the mountains, but he doesn't know for how long.

Natsu swears under his breath, wrapping his arm tighter around her. Lucy's hands come up to cling at his arm, holding him just as tightly. He can feel her shaking against him, though he can't be sure if she's afraid or simply angry. Her nails bite into his skin through his jacket, but Natsu hardly notices, too stunned by what they've come across.

"What could have done this?" Natsu mumbles, more to himself than anything else. Slowly, the pair edges closer, taking one shaky step at a time as they make their way closer to the center of the camp, careful not to step on anything out of respect for the dead. He keeps close to Lucy, wondering if whatever caused this is still lurking around.

His first thought is Berserks, King's soldiers come after them, but he disregards the thought, knowing he wouldn't send him men this far into Mithriel, especially after what happened in Jorah. He wouldn't risk open war over a single thief and a rogue soldier. The Centari king is many things, but he's not a fool. He's strategic, cruel, but intelligent. Almost too much so, at that.

His second thought is wolves, not knowing anything else that would rip people to pieces like this, but somehow he knows it isn't that either. They wouldn't attack such a large group—would kill everything in sight, only what they needed.

It only leaves one option.

Lucy confirms his suspicions. "Rogues," she spits, lashing out at a broken arrow on the ground with her foot. She sends up a flurry of snow, the arrow lost in the heavy, wet flakes. She meets his gaze suddenly, and there's something hatful there, unfamiliar to him on Lucy's face. He knows it's not directed towards him, but it makes his breath catch in his throat regardless. Instantly, Natsu knows he never wants her to look at him like that, like he's some kind of monster.

He sighs, breath leaving him in white puffs. They drift away, disappearing almost immediately, but Natsu pays them no mind as he glances down at an arm, severed just above the elbow, ragged bone splitting though the skin. "Not wolves," he murmurs back. It's a statement, not a question.

They should have been expecting this. Winter is always when the bandits come out. They always had the same problem back in Pergrande. Thieves on the road that would steal from caravans, slaughtering anyone in sight. It was one of the many missions the King would send them one, more for his own amusement than any desire to protect his people. He never cared for his citizens, only wanting blood to be spilled, never caring whose.

And he would send out his Berserks, send them into their rages and let them rip apart anyone he wanted them to, the collars able to control them to that degree. Natsu shudders at the thought, sure that he must have left behind scenes much like this before, must have slaughtered dozens of people under the collars control. He peels his gaze away from the bodies to stare at his companion, wondering what he would have done to Lucy if she hadn't stopped him. His throat tightens at the thought, bile churning in his stomach.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Lucy shakes her head, crouching to look at something he can't see. He steps up behind her, leg bumping against her hip so she knows he's there. She glances up at him briefly, then turns back to something in the snow, a bag he thinks. "Wolves wouldn't leave so much meat to rot," she tells him lowly, shaking her head. "They're hunters—scavengers, not _savages_."

Natsu considers this, knowing that she's right. "Are you _sure_?" he asks. If there's a chance it was just wolves than maybe they can avoid a fight, but if it's rogues...

His lips curve back over his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest, a warning for anyone that may be listening.

His chest still aches at times, but the skin is healing nicely. If a couple of bandits want to pick a fight, Natsu will be ready. He's been itching for a good fight lately, missing the thrill of it. He wasn't able to lose control in Jorah, there were too many people and he wasn't sure who was friend and who was foe at the time. But now? Now he'll know who the enemy is.

If they want a fight, he'll give them one, but only if he has to. He hasn't forgotten about Lucy. He'd rather the two of them run than pick a fight they may not be able to win. Natsu still doesn't want to kill anyone, not unless he has to. It reminds him too much of what he was made to do under the orders of a sadistic king. He has a choice now.

He doesn't think he would have any qualms killing people who would do something like this, however. Not when he knows that letting them live would allow them to do the same thing again.

Before, when he was fighting the other Berserk, he hadn't wanted to kill the man, seeing bits of himself reflecting in the other man's eyes. Natsu knew though, he knew that if he let the Berserk live he would kill Natsu and Lucy and anyone else he came across, lost to the bloodlust inside him. Natsu didn't regret it, what he did, not when he knew the Berserk had lost his humanity, choosing death and chaos over anything else.

His hands clench into tight fists, Natsu scenting the air as best he can, but the wind is still blowing towards them. He catches the scent of the rogues, but can't tell how recent it is, the scents all muddled together.

"I've only heard stories about…" Lucy trails off, speaking to herself more than to him. She shakes her head slowly, grimacing. Her hands shake as she lifts the remains of a small, cloth doll from the ground, bloodstained and ripped at the edges. Natsu turns away, feeling sick. "I never thought—"

She turns to face him, eyes going wide when she looks at something just passed his shoulder. He turns, confused, and Lucy lunges for him, knocking him to ground just as an arrow whips passed them, barely missing Natsu's eye.

* * *

 **AN (4/28/18): I probably won't be able to post any edited chapters over the next two weeks. Finals are coming up and I have three papers and two presentations coming up, as well as a portfolio due, two final exams, and two exam papers. Do not demand/beg for updates, I'm trying to end this semester without losing my mind.**


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED: 5/19/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twenty Three**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Lucy swears under her breath as she presses tight to the ground, covering Natsu's body protectively with her own. An arrow whizzes passed her face, nicking her cheek and drawing a thin line of blood. Lucy ignores it, covering Natsu when a shaft buries itself in the snow beside his head, too close for Lucy's comfort. Another arrow skims her arm, ripping her jacket, but not much else. Natsu rolls them then, pressing her into the snow and hovering just above her, a low snarl building in his throat. His hot breath fans across her exposed neck, Lucy's hand worming down to grab one of her knives.

The volley stops suddenly, but Natsu doesn't move, just continues to growl, daring their attackers to come closer. He tenses, looking about ready to spring forward, but Lucy catches him by the arm, holding him back. He glances down at her, only for a moment, but she can see the confusion in his gaze, Natsu not understanding why she's keeping him from moving.

She just shakes her head, waiting, for what she isn't sure, she just knows they need to wait. If they stand up now, they'll only be shot. She saw two of them, at least. Only one had a bow, maybe ten arrows on him that she could see, and he's only used four. They can't do anything unless they take down the archer, and Lucy arrows are scattered, her bow laying several feet away, out in the open.

They've managed to duck behind one of the last remaining tents, hidden just out of sight, much to Lucy relief. Her fingers squeeze around Natsu's arm, palm trembling slightly, from the cold or her sudden nerves, she can't be sure. He looks down at her again, eyes widening slightly, and he goes very still above her. Moving slowly, Natsu's hand rises to cradle her cheek, much to Lucy's confusion. He doesn't linger, his thumb swiping across her cheek gently.

His fingers come away red.

Something in his eyes changes then, his concern flickering into something murderous. Natsu's lips curve back over his teeth, a low, dangerous growl spilling from his lips, a warning. Lucy shivers as it reaches her ears, despite knowing he would never hurt her. Suddenly, he looks more feral than she's ever seen him, a fact that surprises her. She can feel him tense above her, the muscles in his arms straining, and Lucy knows he's closer to snapping than she would have thought possible.

Again, she gives his arm a harsh squeeze, nails digging into his skin and leaving neat little crescent marks along his bicep. He snaps out of it quickly, brow furrowing as he looks at her panicked expression. Natsu seems to realize what happened, wincing slightly.

She waves him off, knowing they have more important things to worry about at the moment. Lucy looks to her left, back where they came from. Her bow is only about five feet away, and there's an arrow buried in the snow beside it. If she moves fast she can reach it, but it'll be a gamble. If she's too slow she'll be shot, and she doesn't know what Natsu might do if that happens. She'd rather not find out.

Wetting her lips, Lucy decides it's a risk she's willing to take, knowing they can't hide here forever. She sees the doll in the snow, bloody and ripped, and it only steels her resolve, Lucy's jaw clenching tightly. Her snaps around, eyes locking with Natsu's. She breathes his name, gaining his rapt attention. "Do you trust me?" she asks him in a hurry, tripping over her words. Her grip on his arm tightens, Lucy exhaling slowly as she calms her nerves.

He looks taken-aback, his green eyes going wide as he stares down at her. For a moment he doesn't say anything, too stunned by her question to form an answer. "Lucy…" he breathes back to her, her name thick on his tongue.

She squeezes his arm, gaze determined. "Do you trust me?" she repeats firmer this time. Right now, she really needs him to trust her, to know that she's going to make the right decision, even if he doesn't know what that decision is. She doesn't think she can do this if he doesn't trust her. Not for lack of skill or resolve, but because of how much it would sting, his lack of faith in her.

She trusts him; she needs to know he does as well.

Natsu opens his mouth to respond, but stops before the words come out. His teeth click together, jaw snapping shut. He stares down at her, gaze lingering on hers. Again, he wipes the blood from her cheek as best he can, only succeeding in smearing it along her jaw. He swallows, throat bobbing with the motion, and then he nods, eyes honest as he looks at her.

Sending him a small smile, Lucy murmurs a thank you, her thumb pressing into his skin gently.

Lucy doesn't give him a moment to relax as she hooks her leg around his, arm sliding from his arm up around his neck to fist at the collar of his jacket. His eyes widen briefly, Natsu gasping as Lucy suddenly wrenches him to the side, forcing him back into the snow as she uses their momentum to roll them. His arms curl around her back, holding her close as they make two passes, Lucy heedless of the snow clinging to her hair and slipping down the back of her jacket.

She scoops up her bow with one hand, groping blindly for an arrow as she keeps her eyes focused on the landscape, searching for her target. She can't find him at first, it getting too dark for her to see. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, Lucy snarling a curse under her breath.

An arrow slams into the ground on her left this time, coming from the direction of the tent they were hiding behind, their assailant trying to circle around them. Lucy sees movement out of the corner of her eye and doesn't blink. She twists, drawing back and releasing in one fluid motion.

There's a sick thud, a gasp, and then nothing.

Lucy watches as a body hits the ground, but doesn't have time to congratulate herself, suddenly aware of several other people running towards them, at least six men running towards them from all sides. They're surrounded and still on the ground, nowhere to go.

Natsu wraps an arm around her back, jerking upwards into a sitting position. Lucy's bow is knocked from her hands, a surprised sound leaving her as Natsu shoves them upwards. She's suddenly airborne, Lucy clinging to his shoulders for a split second before he releases her, dropping her back into the snow.

She lands in a crouch, ripping a knife from her holster with pause, looking up just in time to see Natsu lunge for the nearest attack, roaring. The men collide, Natsu lifting him straight off the ground and tossing him. He hits the ground hard, rolling, and Natsu is already turning towards the next opponent. His jacket slides from his shoulders, Natsu uncaring as it crumples to the ground, revealing his tensed muscles, fists aching to be put to good use.

Lucy turns her back on him, knowing that he can handle himself. She throws her arms up just in time, blocking the blade of an axe with her knife. The handle slams into the flat of her knife, blade hovering just above her eyes, so close Lucy can see it glint in the light. Her arms tremble with the force, the man stronger than she is. Lucy can't reach down for another knife, not without receiving a nasty cut for her efforts.

Gritting her teeth, she lashes out. Her foot slams into his knee, a yelp coming from the man. His grip on the axe loosening as he bends at the waist. She doesn't hesitate when she drives her knee upwards, hearing a satisfying crack when her leg smashes into his nose. Blood gushes into the snow, staining it, and Lucy rips the axe from his hand, driving her knife into his chest as deep as it can go, the mans large, wooly jacket in the way.

He gurgles, spitting up blood, and Lucy thinks she's aimed well, despite her misgivings.

Dimly, she remembers her promise to Romeo, knowing she's broken it twice now, once back in Jorah and now again. She hopes he'll forgive her for it, but Lucy will do whatever it takes to get home, she won't be stopped by a band of rogues looking to slaughter them without reason. Lucy absolutely refuses to go out that way.

Twisting on her heel, Lucy raises her hand with the axe, catching sight of a man coming up behind Natsu, who's already fighting off two others. Her lips curve back in a snarl, her arm swinging forward as she releases the hilt, watching the blade lodge between the man's shoulders with ease.

He doesn't even have time to scream as he hits the ground, choking on blood.

Natsu glances at her over his shoulder, blood dripping down the side of his face and over his chin. His sharp gaze locks with hers, Natsu giving her a sharp nod before turning back to his own fight, fists lashing out without preamble.

Her body count is up to three now, and in such a short amount of time. She miscalculated earlier, they're surrounded by at least a dozen men and women, Lucy and Natsu slowly being shoved further and further apart as more bodies swarm them.

Lucy is pushes back, nearly stumbling as her foot catches on a body on the ground. She gasps, crying out as a fist catches her cheek, close to her eye. It stings, Lucy head snapping to the side with the force. She looks up to see a woman standing before her, taller than her by a head but thinner in the shoulders, a wraith more than anything.

The woman snarls, baring bloody teeth, and screams as she lunges for Lucy, catching her around the waist and knocking her to the ground. The breath is slammed from Lucy's lungs at the same time she inhales, a strange hiccupping sound slipping from her lips. Her head hits something hard, but Lucy can't tell what it is, preoccupied with the woman on top of her, fingers clawing at her face.

A small hammer swings down, nearly connecting with Lucy's skull, but she catches the woman's wrists, grappling for the weapon furiously, trying to find an opening with her knife. Lucy kicks, bucking her hips to shove the girl off unsuccessfully. A fingernail catches above her eye, Lucy yelping at the feeling.

She grits her teeth, snarling. If she could throw Natsu off of her, she can do the same to this spindly girl who's nothing but limbs. And Lucy does. She throws the woman off, wedging her foot against the strangers stomach and heaving.

There's a wet gagging sound in her ear, Lucy shoving with all her might. The pair of them flip, Lucy on top, and she drives her fist into the girl's mouth, uncaring of the teeth slicing into her knuckles, canines filed into wicked points. Lucy hits her again, and then again until she loses count, the girl falling still beneath her, blood decorating the area around her mouth.

Lucy leans back, trembling, and spits blood into the snow, watching in fascination as the color spreads, slow and winding as it makes a ruby trail.

She can hear shouting behind her, but Lucy can't focus on anything but the pulsing in her hand, skin of her knuckles raw and bloody when she finally looks. For a moment, she thinks she can see pale bone peeking through the red, but before Lucy can be sure a hand fists in her hair, yanking her backwards.

Lucy screams as she's dragged backwards, legs kicking violently and hands clawing at her attacker, knife slipping from her fingers as she grasps at a wrist, trying to relieve the pressure on her head. It doesn't let up, Lucy sobbing at the feeling.

A foot lashes out suddenly, catching her in the ribs, and Lucy chokes on the breath she was taking, wheezing in discomfort. Vaguely, she thinks she can hear the sound of someone shouting her name, but her hearing grows fuzzy. She kicked again, ribs bending in protest, but she doesn't feel her bones snap, much to her relief.

She kicks and fights as she's dragged across the snow, heart pounding in her chest. An ache builds along her skull, Lucy biting her lip to keep from crying out a second time, not wanting to give them the satisfaction.

The pressure on her skull is released suddenly, Lucy falling still on her back. Before she can scramble to her feet, a foot stomps down on her stomach, Lucy barely having the time to twist sideways and vomit into the snow before someone settles on top of her, hands wrapping around her throat.

Heart stuttering, Lucy panics, utterly terrified of being strangled again. She claws at the person above her, but they appear not to notice even as Lucy draws blood, thin cuts beginning to cross his cheeks, Lucy aiming for his eyes. She tries to kick him, but he's well out of her reach.

Tears streak down from the corners of her eyes, Lucy wanting to squeeze her eyes shut, but finding herself unable to do anything but stare in horror at the blank face of the man above her, Lucy quietly sobbing as her lungs start to scream, begging for air.

Her windpipe is being crushed slowly, she can feel it. Black dots swim in Lucy's vision, falling around her like ashes, burning everything to dust. Her sight blurs, everything hay and out of focus. Her clawing grows weaker, her legs ceasing their flailing. She grasps at the hands on her throat, trying to pry them away from her, but they stick fast, iron shackles more than flesh and bone.

For a horrifying moment Lucy could swear the face above her flickers, dark eyes flashing green and familiar, wispy strands of brown hair turning a soft pink. It's only a split second, but she remembers Natsu hovering over her like this, Lucy unable to do anything against his iron hold on her.

This time she has nothing. No secret dust, no knives within reach. Her head is too cloudy to do anything, movements growing sloppy and weak. She tries though, fighting as hard as she can until her eyes just about roll back in her head.

She blinks and suddenly a horrible crack splits the air. The weight is suddenly ripped off Lucy, hands tearing from her throat in an instant. Before she can figure out what happened, she's being yanked off the ground and pulled against something warm and firm.

Lucy stiffens, still wheezing for breath, her throat feeling tight. Bruise begin to bloom beneath her skin, her skin itching where long fingers were wrapped around her neck. A hand presses against her spine, holding her tight to a bare chest. She knows it's Natsu without having to look and leans into him, temple resting against his collarbone. Lips move against her hair, Natsu whispering something she doesn't hear, and Lucy only squeezes her eyes shut tighter, hiccupping softly.

His hand cradles the back of her neck, Natsu continuing to murmur to her while she quivers against his chest. Her arms come around him, nails biting into his back unintentionally. Natsu doesn't appear to mind, only pulling her closer, stroking her hair and rubbing her back as best he can, nosing at her when she whimpers.

Lips press to her hair, only for a moment before he tucks her under his chin, wrapping himself around her entirely, letting her cling to him tightly.

Slowly, Lucy remembers they were fighting. She stiffens, muscles tensing as she listens for anyone around them.

All she hears is the wind.

Lucy sighs, burying her face against his chest. He must have taken care of things before helping her, finishing off the rest of them. They're safe now. The rogues are dead. Eventually, her gasping sobs turn to nothing more but shaky breaths, Lucy calming quicker than she would have thought possible.

Steeling herself, she leans back, Natsu's arms loosening around her until she can peer up at him. His gaze is gentle when he looks at her, eyes flicking across her face, looking to make sure she's all right. His eyes lock on her throat, widening when he sees the fresh bruises. Natsu expression twists into something akin to grief, some kind of raw, unadulterated hatred flashing in his eyes.

She takes a step back, Natsu releasing her entirely. Lucy doesn't go far, hovering just a step away, and Natsu's hands come up to cradle her face, thumbs wiping away the blood and tear streaks until she manages a small smile.

Natsu smiles back at her, words low and indistinguishable as he speaks to her, telling her she'll be okay and promising that it's over, that she's fine, she's safe. Lucy nods along with him, breaths growing steadier with every word he says, Natsu doing his best to calm her down, eyes panicked.

"I'm okay," she promises, giving him a watery, unconvincing smile. Her own eyes take him in, checking to make sure he isn't hurt. There's blood around his mouth, dripping down his chin and throat and she doesn't want to ask what happened, afraid to know the answer. His nose is bruised, swelling around the edges, and one of his eyes has begun to turn a light shade of purple. His lip is split, a fresh cut leaking from his temple, hair matted with blood. His wounds are superficial at best. He won't look quite as pretty for some days, but he'll be fine.

Sighing in relief, Lucy draws him in for another tight hug, yanking him down against her roughly. Natsu falls into her willingly, wrapping her up in his arms and squeezing her waist, face buried against her hair. Her arms curl around his neck, Lucy pressing up on her toes to reach him. Dimly, she realizes her legs are shaking beneath her, Lucy hardly able to hold herself up any longer.

She's more shaken than she thinks she should be. It wasn't that bad, she's fine. It wasn't that big of a deal. Lucy shivers against him, throat aching something fierce when she swallows.

Natsu's hand slides high on her back, fingers skimming her neck. He brushes her hair away from her, slipping it over left shoulder and leaving her right side bared. Lucy's eyes squeeze shut tightly, Lucy worrying her lip gently, the girl trying to focus on the sound of Natsu's heartbeat to distract herself. His fingers come around to ghost her throat and Lucy flinches, more in surprise than pain.

He pulls back, apologizing quickly, but Lucy only shakes her head, suddenly too tired to mind. Natsu hesitates before moving his hand back to her neck, tilting her chin gently to get a better look at her throat. She hears him curse lightly, a growl bubbling in his chest.

Lucy wonders if he can smell her fear, if he can _taste_ it.

There's a sudden snap from behind her, like a branch splitting beneath a boot, and Lucy's breath catches in her throat. She rips away from Natsu, spinning on her heel, back pressed to his chest. Her eyes widen when she catches sight of a man only a few yards away, bow in his hands, string drawn back and an arrow nocked and aimed at her.

For a moment, she can't breathe, too stunned, but Natsu reacts faster than she ever could. The man's fingers slip from the string, a thwack splitting the air. There's a rush of air, Lucy stomach twisting as she's suddenly whipped around. She's pulled tight to Natsu's chest, his arm looped around her waist, and her blood runs cold when she hears a sick squishing sound followed by a grunt of pain.

She knows what's happened even before she looks, her lower lip trembling in horror. A soft whine comes from behind her. She twists around in his grasp, holding him up when his legs wobble briefly. Lucy doesn't stay at his side long, her jaw ticking in anger. Her arm comes around him, Lucy helping to lower Natsu to the ground as gently as she can.

He hisses under his breath, but Lucy doesn't dare turn to see the damage, not yet. It must be his shoulder, she guesses, something warm and wet dripping onto her face from above. She keeps her hand on his shoulder as she stands, giving him a squeeze. Still, she doesn't look, gaze focused on the retreating figure of the archer, his back to her as he runs.

She sneers as she watches him run. Coward, she thinks, movements slow and jerky, Lucy only half paying attention to what she's doing. Her head throbs as she takes another step, heading to where she dropped her bow earlier, gaze trained on the figure growing distant.

Lucy's lip curve back over her teeth, half snarl and half smile. They're on flat ground, nowhere to hide anymore. He won't be getting away, not from her.

Stooping, Lucy lifts her bow gingerly, fingers curling around the dark wood, hand fishing for an arrow in the snow. She snags one, unsure if it's one of hers or one of there's, but finding she doesn't care much either way. Lucy hums a lullaby under her breath, the same one she sang to Natsu, slow, soft melody curling through the crisp air. She barely remembers the words anymore, something about a fox and a humming bird.

The arrow nocks quickly, Lucy drawing back the string with one well practiced motion. She doesn't hesitate as she releases. Her hands are shaky though, the string snapping against her arm hard enough to sting. It's a familiar pain, Lucy frequently fudging her hold when she was younger, always ending up with red welts on her arm. It hasn't happened in years, Lucy quickly learning to better her hold.

Any other time she would blanch at her poor form, but she doesn't have it in her to care, not about the sting in her arm—her bad arm, at that—or the way the arrow wobbles slightly in mid-air.

For a moment she thinks she's missed, but the arrow flies true, burying itself deep in the man's retreating back. He shouts, Lucy able to hear the sound from where she stands, and stumbles on his feet, groping at a wound somewhere in his belly.

Lucy doesn't stay to watch him fall. She whips around on her heel, bow slipping back to the snow, Lucy uncaring as it sinks into the ground. She bolts back to Natsu, stumbling through the snow on shaking legs before collapsing in front of him, knees buried deep in the snow.

She cups his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks as she finally takes the time to look at him. There's an arrow buried deep in his shoulder, but it's more superficial than she was expecting, completely missing anything vital. Lucy sighs, taking a shaky breathing, laughing shrilly, nothing funny about the situation.

He meets her eyes, lips twitching into a small, pained smile, and Lucy sobs in relief as she throws her arms around him, careful to avoid the arrow shoved through his shoulder. Natsu hugs her back as best he can, one arm curving around her and molding her against him. He makes a pained sound, but refuses to let go when she tries to pull back. She squeezes him tight in response, rocking them slowly.

They sit like that for some time before untangling themselves, Lucy needed to treat his shoulder before it gets worse.

Working fast, Lucy finds her bag in the snow not too far away, digging through it to retrieve what she'll need, water, bandages, her needle and thread. She'll have to stitch it, they can't afford him getting an infection now, not like her.

Lucy glances at her arm, lips pressed into a thin line, but eventually she tears her eyes away, looking up at Natsu instead. He's staring back at her, eyes tired but jaw set with determination. He knows what she has to do, even if it'll hurt. She tries to smile for him, but he only sighs, shifting towards her, baring his arm. The arrow protrudes from his skin on both sides, a clean shot, which is better than nothing.

Sighing, Lucy reaches for the shaft, putting light pressure on his skin. Natsu winces, but holds still for her. She captures her lip between her teeth, unsure what to do. Two exit wounds means twice the amount of blood. She can't put pressure on one side while stitching the other, not by herself.

She turns back to Natsu, cradling his jaw and tipping his head up to meet her eyes. With one hand she gropes for the cloth on the ground, shoving it into his hand. "When I pull it out," she tells him softly, "you have to put pressure on it. Can you do that?" Natsu sends her a sharp nod, and Lucy sends him another shaky smile, pressing her palm a bit firmer against his cheek, waiting until he leans into her to pull away.

Humming, she douses the cloth in his hand with alcohol, something strong she bought in Jorah and was hoping to bring back for Makarov. She does the same with a second cloth, this one for his back. Lucy snaps off the arrowhead carefully, making sure to hold it steady and praying it doesn't hurt too much. Squeezing his bicep, Lucy slinks around behind him, fingers wrapping around the arrows shaft gingerly.

Mumbling an apology against his ear, Lucy yanks the arrow out of his skin, the weapon making a sick squishing sound.

He doesn't make a sound, simply slaps the cloth over the bloody hole in his chest, putting pressure on it. She does the same, dabbing more carefully, trying to see how bad the damage is.

They stay like that for a long time, not saying anything as they wipe the blood from his skin. Lucy fingers the needle on her lap. The wound is smaller than expected, but she knows that sewing it shut will make things easier on him, so long as he doesn't pop a stitch. The one's in his arm are just about ready to come out, she'll have to watch them.

Lucy wishes she didn't have to keep stitching him shut, not when he keeps getting hurt because of her.

Her stomach twists at the thought, but she knows it's true. He keeps trying to protect her, and all it's gotten him are bruises and bloody wounds. She hates it. It's like he thinks he's disposable—thinks he doesn't matter. But he does. He matters to her, more than she would have ever thought after that first day.

Slipping the needle through his skin, Lucy leans up to press her lips against his temple, fighting back the wetness in her eyes.

* * *

 **AN: 5/19/18. I would have updated earlier, but I had finals to study for and then my Grandmother's funeral last weekend. I'll be posting another updated chapter tonight, and plan to post two chapters a day until this fic is finally caught up.**


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/19/18 alongside chapter 23**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twenty Four**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

They haven't said more than two words to each other since the fight happened, and that was nearly two days earlier. They're nearly to Bosco by now, only about three more days of walking until they reach the border. After that, it should only be another week for them to reach Fiore. Her hometown of Magnolia is close the border with Bosco, only a day or two of walking at most, less if they hurry.

Homesickness gnaws at Lucy's heart, chest squeezing painfully when she thinks about her family. They must be getting worried. She should have already been back by now, weeks ago, even. She'll miss Romeo's birthday at this rate, something that disappoints her greatly. She promised them she'd be home for it, she and Laxus were going to surprise him with a trip to the capital, but now it doesn't look likely.

Lucy can only hope he'll forgive her for being late. She knows he will, Romeo is one of the most understanding people in her life, but she also knows he'll be disappointed she wasn't there. Romeo is a good kid, an even better younger brother. She only wishes she could be a better sister to him, instead of being off thieving and nearly getting herself killed.

She thought she was being brave by coming back for the necklace, but it was a stupid thing to do, she's coming to realize. A family heirloom isn't worth her life, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself it was. She's glad to have it again, the jewel gives her a strange sense of comfort when she holds it in her hands, tracing the edges of the cut gem with her thumb. Regardless, nothing good has come from this trip. Not when both she and Natsu have been battered around and nearly broken.

Glancing sideways at Natsu, Lucy stares at the bruises on his jaw, his eyes, everywhere. His nose is puffy, a nasty split in the top, crusted with blood. There wasn't anything she could do but clean it, doing her best to prevent an infection, knowing it's the last thing they need at the moment. His eye is still bruised, though not as severely as she assumed earlier. The swelling has gone down, though the dark spot around his eye is still dark, only barely beginning to yellow around the edges, slowly but surely. His stitches have held, the wound in his shoulder slowly beginning to close. It'll leave a nasty scar, she knows, but it's better than him bleeding out in the snow.

Of the pair of them, Lucy thinks she faired better. A few bruises and superficial cuts are all she received, save for the ghastly bruising at her throat. It feels worse than it did the first time, if she's being honest. She can't see how badly her skin is bruised, but she knows it must be awful, judging by the horror in Natsu's eyes whenever he looks at her skin, half-hidden beneath her jacket.

It hurts to breath, to swallow. She can practically feel each individual finger that was wrapped around her neck, little spaces between the bruises dotting her neck. Lucy doesn't like to think about it, wants to forget it happened, but her nightmares have been keeping her awake at all hours.

She dreams of suffocating. She dreams of clawing and pleading and gasping, but the pressure around her throat never loosens. She dreams of dying, of looking up into different faces and watching their expressions go blurry, everything going dark around her and then she's being swallowed whole, her lungs screaming as slowly loses the ability to fight, her movement growing weak and sloppy. Lucy wakes up after that, trembling and gasping, clawing at her neck until Natsu wraps an arm around her, grasping her hands in his and pulling her back against his chest. He doesn't say a word, just holds her.

She doesn't think she could speak even if she wanted to, her throat too raw from being squeezed but also from her screaming.

Lucy wants to say that her throat is the reason she hasn't spoken to Natsu in nearly two days, but she knows that would only be an excuse. She's been ignoring him and that's entirely on her. It's not that she doesn't want to talk to him, she just doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to begin telling him how sorry she is for being the reason he's hurt or say how foolish he was for doing what he did. It might have saved her life, but she never would have forgiven herself if something worse happened to him.

She should have been paying more attention—shouldn't have broken down in the middle of a fight the way she did. If she hadn't, they both would have seen the archer coming and he wouldn't have been hurt. She shouldn't have frozen either. She managed to knock them both out of the way earlier in the fight, she should have done it again. There was still time and all she could do was _freeze_.

And he was hurt for it. She can still feel his blood on her fingers, can see a crust of redness beneath her fingernails, too deep for her to scrape away. It makes her sick to think about. Lucy has never been squeamish, but there's something about seeing his blood cover her shaky fingers, Lucy fumbling as she continued to pull the needle through his skin, working fast to make sure he didn't bleed out.

Sometimes she thinks back to what he said to her when they first met, about how he would protect her—a life for a life—that's when anger flares in her chest, throat tightening even further, rage welling deep inside her. Her grief is masked by it, shoving it down. She never wanted his blood debt, never wanted him to think he owed her, and she certainly doesn't want him to die for her.

Her life isn't more important than his. He deserves to exist and be happy, and she hates that he seems to be putting her before that. All it does is get him hurt.

The wind whips by, a shiver wracking her body, and Lucy pulls her jacket tighter around her, wishing she could disappear inside of it, if only for a little while. The weather has been getting warmer since the storm passed, the coldest parts of Mithriel left behind them. They've been sticking closer to the mountains, not daring to venture further into open ground, not after what happened.

The last thing they'd need is another fight so soon. Honestly, it's a miracle they made it out of the last one in one piece. Lucy thought for sure they would've been worse off. She's confident in her ability to fight, she didn't survive a fight with a Berserker for nothing, but she knows better than to be arrogant.

Arrogance leads men to their deaths.

Natsu stops walking suddenly, going stock still. Lucy pauses a step in front of him, turning around, confused. She stares up at him, watching his green eyes flit across her features, locking with her own for a long moment before slipping lower, his gaze heavy against her throat, as if a physical weight is pressing against her neck again. He doesn't linger long, fierce gaze snapping back to hers. Natsu jaw clenches, a low rumble building in his chest only for him to swallow it back down. Eyes flashing with rage, Natsu takes a step closer to her.

She eyes him wearily for a moment, not liking the look in his eyes. Natsu seems to notice, his anger melting into something softer, though his eyes remain hard, his jaw set. His gaze slips to the ground, Natsu swallowing thickly.

His breath winds through the frigid air like smoke is billowing from his lungs, a fire burning in his lungs. She watches it drift away, disappearing in little wisps until nothing is left by the cold air surrounding them. Natsu's throat bobs with a swallow, the Berserk wetting his lips as he avoid her gaze, almost nervous.

"You're angry," he murmurs, gaze rising to meet hers. It's a statement that hangs between them, heavy and thick as fog. Natsu doesn't shift on his feet, doesn't smile, doesn't do anything except stare down at her, almost daring her to deny it, an unspoken challenge in his eyes.

She wets her lips, sighing heavily. The wind whips by, her hair blocking her view of him for only a moment. Lucy doesn't respond for a long time. Her throat aches, but she isn't sure if it's the bruises or the emotion welling in her throat, begging to be released.

Lucy sighs, shaking her head slowly. "I'm not angry," she tells him, arms wrapping around her middle to block out the cold. Her gaze slips from his face, wandering to the bruises and cuts on his face, his shoulders, his chest. She looks at the stitches in his skin, thin thread the only thing keeping him from tearing apart at the seams. She wonders how many of the scars that will be lining his skin will be because of her.

And she isn't, not at him. No, she's more angry with herself than anything. She let her fear get the best of her and it nearly cost them both. Lucy is only frustrated when it comes to Natsu, wishing he wouldn't put himself between her whatever's coming for them.

His jaw ticks, not with anger but something else that she can't place. He sighs, looking away from her briefly. Natsu's arms cross over his chest tightly and Lucy gaze immediately flicks to his stitches—on his chest, his arm, his shoulder—watching as they strain with his movements. She knows it must hurt more than he's letting on, but Natsu hardly reacts to the thread threatening to snap.

"Don't lie, Lucy," he murmurs, sounding more tired than anything else. Guilt weighs heavy on her heart, knowing that between his nightmares and hers neither of them having been sleeping much at all, too jittery despite their exhaustion.

She shakes her head, sighing as she locks eyes with him. "I'm not," she promises, voice louder than intended. "I just—" Lucy cuts off suddenly, couching violently. She doubles over, grasping at her throat, still raw and sore from being squeezed, and clenches her jaw. She waits for the pain to stop, swallowing as best she can despite the tightness in her throat. Fingers wrap around her arms, holding her upright as she wheezes softly, catching her breath. Her arm aches where he touches her, but Lucy leans into him, trying to silently let him know that she isn't angry with him.

Her hand comes up, fingers shaking as she gropes for his wrist, clinging to him. Lucy hears him hush her, whispering something in his own tongue that sounds like a curse. Then he whispers something softer, something that sounds like the word he told her meant stars. She doesn't know what it means, but gladly leans into his hands, fingers squeezing around his wrist.

Finally, Lucy manages to take a deep breath, cool air soothing her bruised skin. She leans back up, slow on her feet, and Natsu gripes her arms steadily. She swallows, sighing. "You need to stop," she tells him, voice barely loud enough for her to make out the words. He flinches, hearing more sensitive than hers, and tries to step back. Lucy holds tight to his wrist, holding him in place loosely. He could pull away if he really wanted, but he doesn't go far, hands still hovering over her. "Natsu," his name is practically a sigh, Lucy looking up at him with melancholy eyes, "you don't owe me anything." His eyes go wide, brows furrowing a moment later. "You understand that, right?"

This time he does pull away, Lucy's hand falling limp at her side. She can feel her expression shatter, crumbling as he pulls away from her, taking a step back. There's a tick in his jaw again, the muscle jumping under his skin as he grits his teeth. Natsu looks absolutely stricken as he stares back at her, confused and maybe angry, though she can't quite tell.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words leave him. Finally, his mouth closes, teeth clicking together with an audible snap. He swallows, the sound audible to Lucy, he's so close. "No," he finally tells her, voice gravelly and thick with something she doesn't recognize. "I don't." It's little more than a whisper when he says it.

Her chest gives a pained squeeze, her tongue suddenly feeling much too large for her mouth, too heavy and thick. Her mouth goes dry, Lucy's lips parting slowly, though no sound leaves her. "Natsu…" she trails off, not knowing what to say to make things better, to make him _feel_ better.

She gets it, she thinks, maybe not entirely, but at least an inkling. All his life he's been forced to do things—to fight for people, kill for them, serve them. She doesn't know if it's some misguided honor keeping him at her side or if it's some product of being controlled by someone for most of his life, but she thinks she understands his blood debt now, even if she doesn't like it.

He thinks he's expendable.

Natsu's tongue darts out, nervously wetting his lips. He sighs, the sound so shaky she thinks it might break into pieces. "I've never been alive," he tells her suddenly, startling Lucy into taking a step back. He shakes his head, closing the distance between them with a single step. "Being locked in a cage," he spits, more angry than she's ever heard him before, "being forced to fight to the death." His hands shake at his sides, curling into tight fists. "That's not living." There's a sharp edge to his words, and Lucy flinches as it cuts into her.

He notices, wincing, and reaches out slowly, placing his hands on her arms when she doesn't pull back. Natsu sends her a weak smile that doesn't even begin to reach his eyes, his thumbs sweeping across her shoulders gently. Lucy's arm gives an angry pulse in response, as if something's trying to rip through her skin, but she ignores it, knowing it isn't as important as him right now.

"I don't know anything besides fighting," he continues, "protecting." One of his hands comes up to cradle her jaw, his gaze on her throat, something hateful burning behind his green eyes. His thumb rubs against her skin, only for a moment. "There was never anything else for me to do," he explains, sighing. "I shouldn't push that on you, and I'm sorry for that but—"

She cuts him off, voice gentle. "My life doesn't mean more than yours," she reminds him, covering his hand with her own, his fingertips burning against her chilled skin.

Natsu shakes his head vehemently, eyes going hard. His jaw locks, grip tightening on her arm, fingers squeezing almost too tight. "It does," he argues, a snarl to his words startling her, though she only blinks up at him in shock, jaw dropping open. His lips curve back, revealing sharp canines.

"Natsu," she breathes back to him, voice cracking on the syllables of his name. She shakes her head, practically clawing at his hand, her nails digging into his skin. He looks down at her sadly, and Lucy bristles, hot anger rushing through her. Her tongue flicks over her lips, throat squeezing, but she ignores it. "Natsu," she starts again, knowing she needs to tell him he's wrong.

"Lucy, it does," he repeats, snapping at her harshly.

She jerks out of his hold, knocking his hands away from her as she takes a step back. Her heels slide against loose rock, but she glares at him when he tries to steady her, Natsu flinching back as if she'd hit him. Lucy almost feels bad. Almost. "How could you say that?" she hisses at him, eyes narrowing. Her hands clench, trembling due to her sudden anger.

He matches her glare, towering over her, and Lucy almost deflates when she realizes this is one of the only conflicts they've had since they met, save for their brief argument in Jorah. "You have someone to go back to," Natsu reminds her, not unkindly, but there's something icy there, unfamiliar. "I said I would get you to Fiore and I meant that." This time he doesn't step towards her, standing very still, uncaring of the wind whipping around him almost violently. "Whatever it takes."

"That's bullshit!" she snaps at him, chocking on a couch when her voice gets too loud. His expression changes immediately, concern flooding across his face, his eyes going wide. Natsu lunges forward, fingers barely grazing her arm before the wind suddenly throws him backwards, Natsu stumbling unsteadily. He winces, pressing a hand to his shoulder, and Lucy realizes he's pulled it, disturbing the stitches.

The wind suddenly stops, and that's when Lucy realizes it was hers, her magic acting up.

She takes a hesitant step forward, forgetting her anger entirely as she sees the flash of pain in his eyes. There's an apology on her lips, but also something else, something she thinks he needs to hear. She needs him to listen, if only for a moment.

"Lucy," he murmurs as she comes to stand in front of him. Lucy reaches up, grabbing his face with gentle hands, and forces him to meet her eyes, keeping her grip light in case he wants to pull back. Natsu doesn't say anything else, simply waits for her to speak, recognizing the determined look in her eyes.

She takes a deep shuddery breath, ignoring her arm and aching throat. "You don't get to throw away your life for mine, understand that?" she says, voice as loud as she can make it. Despite how strained her words are, she knows he hears them by the way he stiffens, his jaw clenching. "You don't get to do that to yourself," Lucy continues, gaze locked with his, "and you don't get to do that to me."

He looks like he might argue, mouth opening and something sharp on his tongue, but he stops, noticing something in her eyes. He has to know that his life means more than just protecting other people, has to know that he isn't a shield. It's not fair to him to think so little of himself, and he doesn't get to put that guilt on her—doesn't get to make her feel responsible if he—

"Okay," he whispers, though he doesn't look like he believes her.

"Okay," she echoes, letting her hands slip from his face. Lucy takes a long, shaky breath, eyes locked with his. "You matter, you know," Lucy tells him, giving him a wobbly smile that slowly slips into something stronger, "to me." His eyes widen just the slightest. "Don't throw your life away because of some obligation," she whispers.

Natsu huffs lightly, the sound slipping into a quiet laugh. He shakes his head, expression suddenly very serious as he looks at her. "You aren't an obligation."

Lucy breathes a laugh in response, the tension draining from them like water. Her shoulders relax, Lucy smiling at him in earnest. In front of her, he shifts, wincing slightly, fingers twitching. His arm is still against his side, and Lucy sighs, stepping closer and placing a hand on his bare shoulder, worming her bow off her back as she guides him to sit. "Come on," she whispers, "let me check your arm." Her lips twitch at the edges. "I think I can take the stitches out now."

She nods at the old cut on his arm, dumping her bag onto the ground before kneeling beside him, pulling a knife from her thigh.

It shouldn't take too long. Besides, they still have time before it gets dark.

"Lucy—" he starts suddenly, cutting off just as quickly. She looks up, peeking at him through her lashes. He only shakes his head, sending her a grateful look. He doesn't have to say anything, she already knows. He may not believe how much his life is worth yet, but he will, eventually.

He isn't expendable. He never has been.

They lapse into silence, Lucy forgoing her knife for a moment as she checks his other wounds with a careful eye. The one on his chest is healing nicely, albeit slowly. It'll scare, but he'll live, and that's what maters most. She trails a finger along the stitches, Natsu shivering in surprise. Lucy mumbles an apology, an embarrassed flush warming her cheeks. His shoulder is still bad, however, unsurprising given how recent it is. It likely won't be healed for some time, though it's no longer life threatening, at the very least.

She leans over him to glance at the twin scar on his back, relieved to see it undisturbed despite Natsu's movements.

This isn't like Jorah. They can't just stop for several days to rest, not when they're in the open like they are, not when they've already been attacked once. They can't handle another fight like that, not so soon.

Her hand slips down his arm, eyes snapping to the healed cut on his arm. She remembers stitching it shut back in Jorah not too long ago, roughly two weeks and some days. Lucy is beginning to note that he heals faster than most people. Small cuts disappear within two days and anything larger only last for half as long as she thinks they should.

Humming to herself, Lucy draws her thumb over the old stitches, trying to decide if the wound looks like it's closing properly. She's only removed stitches a few times for Laxus, her cousin having a habit of slicing open his arms when he's working.

Romeo was always squeamish when it came to blood and Makarov is useless with anything sharp, his eyesight not what it once was. Usually, Makarov's friend Porlyusica was around to help, but occasionally she was away, or they were simply too far to run for help.

She learned though, and that's about all that matters.

Lucy deems the cut healed well enough, nodding to herself as she pulls the materials she'll need out of her bag. Water, bandages, what's left of Makarov's thick, green healing paste. Not wasting time, Lucy murmurs for Natsu to stop her if anything hurts, barely pausing to see him nod before she begins cleaning the gash, humming to herself as she works.

She works slow as she cleans, making sure to be careful, not wanting to jostle him in any way. Though, if he didn't pull a stitch while fighting the other day, she doubts he will now. The thought is almost amusing. Almost, but not quite.

Glancing at his shoulder, Lucy notes that, while he didn't pop a stitch, he did add several more to his collection. It's a bitter thought, so she shoves it away, wanting to keep her focus.

Lucy hesitates as she lifts her knife to his arm, carefully slipping the sharp tip between his skin and the bit of thread, not wanting to accidentally cut him and risk making things worse.

Her arm pulses in time with her thoughts, Lucy's lips twisting into a frown. She cuts through the thread easily, red strands fluttering uselessly against his skin. The throb grows violent, her fingers twitching, and she stops before making the next cut.

Hand clenching, she resolves to tell him _now_. Lucy grits her teeth, sucking in a deep breath. Her lips part, the words finally rising in her throat, much to her immense relief. It's short lived, however, the words catching in her bruised throat. The dark lines on her arm shift violently beneath her skin, unhappy, and suddenly she feels something slither around her neck and squeeze.

It isn't enough to hurt, but it does scare her.

"I was scared."

Her head snaps up in surprise, Lucy scrambling to return to her task. She peers up at Natsu, confused, her eyes wide when they meet his. "What?" she manages to asks him after several seconds, expression owlish. For a moment, she could have sworn the words came from her mouth, but she knows the spider veins on her arm won't let her talk—a ridiculous thought, really, but she isn't sure how else to describe it.

Natsu clears his throat, wetting his lips quickly before taking his lip beneath his teeth, biting down so hard that a sharp canine draws blood. He takes a shuddery breath, looking away from her, gaze sweeping around the open landscape around them, gaze hesitating when he looks at the mountains off to his left before snapping back to hers. "When I saw you on the ground," he clarifies, swallowing, "I was scared."

Lucy has to rip her gaze away from his, startled by the revelation and the shaken look in his eyes. She pops the next stitch, waiting for him to continue.

"You weren't moving," he tells her, glancing down to watch her work, mouth close to her ear when he speaks. "You were just lying there and—" he cuts off the shake his head. "And when I saw that archer, I thought—" Natsu stops himself, shuddering. "I panicked," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to scare you, too, I just didn't know what else to do."

Her expression softens, her earlier anger suddenly gone. For as much as she would hate to have his blood on her hands, she forgets that he would be just as torn apart is she died and he couldn't stop it. "Natsu," she murmurs, unsure what she's trying to say.

He takes a deep breath, shaking his head softly as he watches her hands move, Lucy pulling out the first thread from his arm. She watches his expression carefully, looking for any signs of pain, but finds nothing but determination flashing in his eyes. "I couldn't just let you die, Lucy," he whispers.

"I know," she replies quietly, gently tugging another strand of thread free from his arm. She could never just let him die either. Lucy's grown attached to him in the near two months they've been together. She doesn't know if it's because of what they've been through, or if it's simply who he is, but Lucy can feel in her bones that losing him would be devastating.

Her lips quirk at the edges.

Natsu smiles, bumping his head against hers. "I'll be more careful next time," he promises.

She laughs lightly, smiling in return. "I know you will." She's beginning to find that Natsu doesn't break his promises.

* * *

 **AN: Edited 5/19/18. I'll be updating at least two chapters a day from now until this story is up to date.**


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/20/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twenty Five**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

He can hear something screaming up ahead, the sound unnatural, sending a shiver down his spine. Natsu doesn't know what it is, but it doesn't sound human, or even animal, for that matter. It's something he's never heard, the sound constant and low, a bubbling growl more than anything else. He considers asking Lucy what it could be, the sound just barely masked by her humming next to him, but he doesn't bother. It doesn't sound dangerous, only unfamiliar.

Lucy will hear it soon enough, the sound growing louder with every step they take. He figures it must be close, judging by the rumbling sound. Close and large, he corrects himself, not knowing how anything could sound quite so deafening without being absolutely huge.

At his side, Lucy's humming cuts off suddenly, the sound growing so loud that even she can hear it. She doesn't look at him, doesn't ask if he hears it too, already knowing the answer. His senses are sharper than hers, more sensitive, and he can hear things coming long before she does. Lucy doesn't stiffen or show any outwards signs of fear, knowing that he would tell her if he thought they were in danger.

Somehow, he knows they're not. Whatever's up ahead isn't dangerous, not in a traditional sense. He can't smell anything that could be making the sound, the air tasting clean on his tongue, nothing unnatural around them.

The noise becomes deafening as they move closer, a strange cacophony of snarls and screams, sounding like broken glass shattering against the ground. Natsu climbs to the top of the hill before Lucy can, curious about the sound, and wanting her a step behind him if he's wrong about it being dangerous. He may of promised not to put himself between her and an enemy again the way he did, but that doesn't mean he'll simply stop trying to help her.

He gets to the top and freezes, finally recognizing the noise once he sees what's causing it. Natsu mumbles a prayer in the old tongue, his eyes widening when he sees what's below. Lucy catches up to him, murmuring something he can't make out as she reaches his side, suddenly stilling as well.

Natsu hears Lucy curse beside him as she catches sight of what's blocking their path. A low, frustrated sound pulls passed her lips and she swears in a language he doesn't understand, Fae he thinks, but doesn't bother asking. It's not important at the moment, considering what they've come across.

The river roars as it rushes passed them, water swirling violently, sucking at debris and pulling it under, consuming it. He follows it with his eyes, tracing its winding path across the ground. It's coming from the mountains at their left, water tumbling down the face and crashing against the ground, splattering into a large pool at the base. When he glances right, he can't see the end of the river, unsure how far it stretches. It could go on for miles and miles, possibly even the ocean, though he can't be sure.

Lucy reacts first, continuing to swear as she walks down the hill, stumbling slightly in the deep snow, but she doesn't pause, heading down to the slick bank of the river, the snow melting around it's edges, baring more of the hard, brittle ground, but also adding to the rush of water, chunks of thick ice bobbing in the water.

He follows a step behind, hovering near her shoulder when he too reaches the bank, Natsu peering curiously at the water, knowing the obvious option is to go through, but unable to judge how deep it is. The river is only a few yards across, not the largest he's seen, but still concerning, given the cold. They'll both be soaked by the time they get out, he can only hope that it isn't too deep, more for Lucy's sake than his own.

She's a good head shorter than he is, her eyes just barely level with his collar bones. If the river is too deep she'll be sucked under, disappearing with the current before she can come back up. Worse still, he doesn't think he would be able to pull her back up, not with her wet clothes and the water rushing as fast as it is. She would be ripped away with the water, left to either drown or wash up somewhere downriver, he wouldn't be able to find her, not for days.

He growls lowly at the thought, gaze distrustful as he glances at the steady torrent before turning to stare down at Lucy, wanting to know what she thinks they should do. He doesn't know Mithriel or this river, and though he doubts she's more familiar with it than him, she has a better understanding of the countries geography. He remembers her mentioning the rough map her grandfather drew, Lucy pulling the worn sketch from her bag to show him, the picture hard to make out they were so scribbled.

He doesn't remember there being a river on the map, but he didn't get much of a look at it, not understanding half the symbols he saw, only recognizing mountains and the rough sketch of a crown about the countries capitals, a low sound pulling from his throat when he recognized Đüskell.

They've come a long way, he realized when she showed him the map, pointing between Đüskell and her home in Fiore, Lucy giving a rough estimate of where they were, the pair of them still stuck in that cave waiting for the storm to pass, nestled against the tip of Stella. He never realized how large Pergrande was compared to the other countries, the great kingdom several times larger than Mithriel and positively dwarfing the size of Fiore, much to his amazement.

Fiore's capital of Crocus seemed so large to him as a child, the castle a looming figure and the entire city seeming to stretch for miles. He never imagined it would be so small in reality. Natsu has crossed to every corner of Pergrande, unaware that he would have made several passes around Fiore.

Natsu looks back at the river, jaw clenching tightly when he hears it snarl up at them, practically daring them to come closer. Natsu never has been one to back down from a challenge, but he's not stupid either. He knows how dangerous it would be to just dive in, especially when there are better ways from them to get across.

He turns to Lucy, raising a brow as he looks at her, her gaze directed at the rushing water, lips pressed into a thin, indecisive line. Natsu waits for her to speak first, but she only shifts her weight on her feet, not once looking away from the river, watching it calculatingly. "Should we go around it?" he finally asks, knowing one of them would have to say it.

Lucy shakes her head in response, sighing, something resolute in her gaze. "We don't know how far it goes, we could be walking for days." She rubs at her arms gently, almost absentminded in her movements, her fingers digging into her upper arm tightly. She's been doing that a lot lately, from what he's noticed.

He isn't sure if it's a nervous tick or not, but he wouldn't blame her if it is, especially if it's one she's only not developing. Natsu can't imagine how she's feeling now, her throat still bruised horribly from being choked twice in only a relatively short amount of time. She has every right to be nervous, he doesn't blame her for feeling that way.

Natsu would be scared, too.

It's been hard for her to talk, he knows, their argument from yesterday took more out of her than expected, her voice growing hoarse, Lucy unable to speak for several hours afterwards. He prattled on to her, telling her stories he remembers, about his family, old legends, telling her about the stars. She listened for hours until Natsu's own voice started to disappear, his throat raw from speaking for so long.

Lucy could only smile for his efforts, but Natsu was happy to see the light returning to her eyes as she buried herself beneath her blanket, eyes tired but with mirth dancing across them when she met his gaze. He scared her, he knows, both with that he did during the fight, but also when he yelled at her. He hadn't meant to, but he did, now he has to make up for that, no matter how long it takes.

She scared him too, when he saw her lying there on the ground, so still he thought she was already dead. Everything went red after that, Natsu was grabbing the man on top of her before he knew it, snapping his neck easily, satisfaction curling through his veins when he heard the man's bones break easily, a choke sound leaving him before he hit the ground.

The monster in his chest clawed to the surface, his blood burning beneath his skin, and for the first time in his life he didn't care, didn't want to stop it. It was only when he heard Lucy coughing that he snapped out of it, scooping her up with ease and wrapping her in his arms, not knowing what else to do as she sobbed against him, boneless and more frail than he's ever seen her before. For a moment, he almost didn't recognize the strong woman in his arms, not used to Lucy breaking down, but it was still her, a little scuffed at the edges, but still Lucy.

Clearing his throat, Natsu bumps his hand against hers, gaining her attention, Lucy finally peeling her gaze away from the violent current. "So you wanna go through?" he asks her slowly, making sure he understands. It seems the best out of their few options. The mountains would be too dangerous to climb, and Lucy's right, they don't know how long the river is. They could be walking for days, and the river may only get wider, more dangerous to cross.

Lucy gives a sharp nod, determined eyes locking with his. "Unless you have a better option?" she asks, curious. He doesn't, they both know it. Besides, Natsu trusts her. If she thinks crossing the river is the best option, he'll be right beside her.

Natsu looks her over slowly. "You'll get wet," he reminds her, lips twisting into a teasing smile, feeling a tightness leave his chest when she sends him a look that's not half as venomous as it's supposed to be, her expression sour, but her eyes bright. He doesn't know if it's the cold or his teasing making her ears flush red, but he doesn't much care, simply happy to be making her relax, if only for a moment.

Snorting, Lucy huffs, rolling her eyes at him playfully. "I'm already wet," she gripes, gesturing down at her soaked boots and socks, both darkened with water from the snow they've been trudging though. Lucy looks soaked to the bone, and the sight would be almost comical, if not for the shivers wracking her body every few seconds, Lucy unable to stop them.

It's only going to get worse if they wade through the water, but Natsu figures it's the only way. It'll be growing dark in only a few hours, they can set up camp on the opposite bank and light a fire for the night, drying themselves as best they can. He can see the same conclusion in her eyes, both resolute in their decision to cross.

Besides, though the air is still chilly it isn't nearly as bad as it had been, the pair so close to the border that the snow has lessened, barely reaching Lucy's knees at times. The water will be freezing, but so long as they can light a fire they should be fine. It's no colder than it was back in the mountain pass near Jorah, enough for them to feel it, but not so cold that it stiffens their limbs and makes them tremble with every step.

Nodding, Natsu slips his jacket from his shoulders, knowing it will only make it harder for him to move, but also because he doesn't need it. He'll be wet and uncomfortable, but he won't freeze. If he keeps it dry, Lucy can use it later. She needs it more than him. He shoves the coat into her hands, a surprised sound leaving Lucy's throat as he steps towards the roaring water.

"Let me go first," he murmurs back to her, stepping up to the edge until water laps at his boots.

Her hand shoots out, catching him by the elbow. "Natsu," she murmurs, making him pause. He turns, expression softening when he sees the nervous, almost reprimanding look in her eyes. He knows what she's thinking, that they've talked about this, but he only smiles down at her.

"I want to see how fast the current is," he tells her, shaking her hand away from his arm only to catch her fingers in his palm, squeezing slightly. "I won't get swept away as easily as you." A half-truth, but not a lie. He really does just want to check the current, but he also wants to make sure it's safe for her to cross, knowing that the waters depth could be a problem. He's not disregarding his own safety this time, not after what she said to him, but he knows one of them needs to cross, and he'd feel much safer if it was him.

She softens, though she doesn't look entirely happy about it. He figures he wouldn't be either, not after what just happened to the both of them. "Okay," she says, squeezing his fingers tightly before releasing him entirely, trusting him enough to let him go.

Natsu smiles back at her, trying not to think about her head disappearing under the water, about her disappearing in the blink of an eye, there and then simply gone.

It draws a shudder from him, but he tries to pretend he's fine.

He doesn't look back at Lucy as he wades into the water, boots immediately slipping on smooth, slippery rocks. He doesn't fall, though his balance does shift, Natsu wobbling for a moment before regaining his balance. He takes a deep breath, barely feeling the icy water curling around his calves, drenching his pants and boots.

The current is strong, but not nearly as rough as he was expecting, no worse than the wind they faced during the storm. He doesn't think it should be a problem, not if they both stay above the water, which is quickly rising to Natsu's hips. Deep spots in the ground are what really worries him. Natsu drags his feet across the rocks, prodding for holes or sudden drops, but if happy to find none.

He turns back to Lucy when he's halfway across, beckoning her forward. "Come on, Lucy," he calls across the roaring water, fingers curling to tell her to join him. She nods slowly, dropping to her knees to shove her things into her bag, not wanting to lose them to the current. Both of their jackets are shoved inside, Lucy shivering at the sudden cold, but otherwise revealing nothing. Her knives also disappear, as well as the thinner, sleeveless coat she's been wearing since they met.

His eyes widen when he sees the bandages coiled around her arm from shoulder to wrist, but has no time to dwell on them as Lucy tosses the bag towards him. He catches it before it can fall into the water, reacting quickly, still standing in the middle of the river and waiting for her.

She slips into the water quickly, blanching at the chill, but starts wading through quickly, the water swallowing her up to her ribs. She shivers, the water easily soaking into her skin, clothes heavy and wet around her. For a moment she doesn't move getting used to the freezing water, but eventually she moves, wading towards him carefully, feeling for loose rocks and slick patches. Lucy trips as she nears him, and Natsu's hand lashes out, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her towards him before she can be swept off, her chest hitting the water with a splash.

She sputters, shaking water from her face and sends him a small, grateful smile, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Moving quickly, Natsu wraps his arm around her waist, walking backwards and leading them both to the shore. He stumbles slightly, but Lucy keeps him from falling, grasping at his arms to hold him upright. He thinks he can hear her giggle when he flails, but the sound is lost to the river, Natsu unsure if it was real or not. They make their way to the other side quickly, anchored together against the rushing water, and they both manage to keep their heads above the current, even as it begins to rise higher on their chests.

Lucy shivers against him, and Natsu pulls her close, letting her leech whatever warmth she can from him, even though they're both soaked and chilly.

Eventually, the water lowers again, the pair slipping out of the water slowly. The sudden weight of his clothes drags at him, making him wobble, but he hauls both of them from the water, working fast as he tosses their things onto the ground.

He rips his armor over his head, tossing it into the snow, the golden metal beginning to freeze against his skin painfully. It rolls in the snow, settling quickly, and Natsu shakes himself off as best he can before reaching for her bag, digging around inside until its magic grants him a blanket. He steps closer to Lucy, unconcerned with himself as he looks at her trembling form, her clothes sticking to her wet skin bow and quiver dropped carelessly near the bank, Lucy tugging at her wet clothes.

She needs them off, and quickly, but her hands are trembling, fingers turning a horrible shade of blue. He meets her gaze, pulling her close and silently asking for permission to help. She gives a sharp nod, fumbling with the hem of her shirt, and Natsu doesn't waste time hesitating. His fingers grasp at her sopping clothing, tugging her shirts gently over her head, Lucy helping him drag the wet clothing up her torso, his fingers burning hot against her waist and ribs, barely grazing her as they move and dragging a shiver from her. Lucy gives a little whine as the cold nips at her bare skin, her clothes falling into a wet heap on the ground, leaving her in only a thin scrap of cloth covering her breasts.

Natsu tugs her flush against him, shocked by the sudden expanse of bare skin pressed to his chest, Lucy soft and cold against him. His hand presses against the center of her back, Lucy sighing at the heat of his palm. Natsu keeps her tucked under his chin as he flounders with the blanket in his hand, wrapping it around her gently, and pressing her tight to his chest, her own arms wrapping around his back. "You okay?" he murmurs against her hair, lips pressed tight against her skin. She can only nod in reply, giving a breathless laugh in response.

Absentmindedly, Natsu's fingers trace a pattern against her spine, and Lucy shivers, curling tighter against him. Her wet lower half bumps against him, her wet socks pressed to his own wet clothes. Natsu mumbles nonsense against her hair before pulling away and dropping to his knees before her. His hands go to her leg, lifting it gently and pulling off her boot and drenched sock. He does the same with the other leg, wincing when he peels the wool down her leg, unclipping it from her belt. His hands rub against her calves, trying to warm her as best he can, but knowing a fire is what they both need.

It doesn't take long for her skin to lose some of its redness, heat seeping into her trembling form, and Natsu sends her a quick smile as he releases her, reaching for the bag again, this time pulling out his jacket and flint. He tosses the jacket at Lucy, not looking as he hears her shift. Her belt jingles, Lucy slipping her wet shorts down her legs. Natsu hears her sigh as she pulls the jacket on over her bare skin, residual heat creeping into her flesh.

Natsu smiles, hearing her shift on her feet, snow cold, but only up to her ankles. Lucy laughs suddenly, and he peers over at her, watching as she shakes her head, staring at her wet clothes in disbelief at what they've done.

He turns away, making a fire quickly, clearing a spot in the snow and fishing sticks and dried grass from her bag, both wrapped tightly in a third blanket she brought along with her, to keep them together and dry as she traveled.

Natsu lights it with ease, waiting until it's a decent size, before turning to Lucy, beckoning her close without a word. Her teeth chatter, and her movements are stiff as she slides up to him, dropping a pair of heavy blankets into his lap before settling down beside him, the ground hard but relatively dry beneath them, Natsu doing his best to clear a spot for them to sit.

Immediately, he drops the blankets beside him and pulls her into his lap, ignoring her startled squeak and dragging her against his chest, knowing that body heat is best for chasing away the cold. It's no different from how close they've been sleeping lately, more often than not waking with little space between them, curled around each other tightly.

Though startled, Lucy sinks into him, her own arms wrapping around his back, fingers clutching at his skin as she buries her nose against his neck, Natsu shivering at how cold she feels pressed against him, too cold. His nose wrinkles and Natsu rubs his hand down her bare arm, chasing away the cold. Lucy fiddles with the blankets she brought with her, struggling to wrap the wool around them, but managing with Natsu's help.

The change in heat is drastic, Natsu sighing at the feeling of Lucy growing warm, her skin heating his slowly. His arm slips beneath the open jacket around her, Lucy's arms not even pulled through the sleeves, she couldn't yank it on. With his nose buried in her hair, his hand firm against her spine, Natsu allows himself to relax, chuckling lightly as he realizes what they've just done.

It was stupid to wade through the river, but it was certainly faster than walking around it. They didn't die or get dragged away, and though Lucy is freezing against him, he thinks she'll be fine so long as he keeps her warm. The temperature is rising here, about freezing by a decent amount, though still chilly. The snow is melting fast, and he knows that Mithriel's storms are almost behind them.

Lucy laughs with him, arms squeezing around his chest, and Natsu returns her hug, tracing circles against her side absentmindedly.

They stay like that for a long time, basking in the heat coming off of one another, Lucy humming a song under her breath, something light and silly sounding, melody irregular and strange. His fingers fist in the jacket coiled around her, Natsu nosing at her hair as he glances at the river only a few feet away, sleep pulling at him regardless of the sun still being in the sky, sunset not yet approaching.

The pair of them lapse into silence, simply enjoying each others company, sleep pulling at their exhausted limbs. Natsu keeps one arm tucked around her, fingers splayed across the bare part of her back where the jacket has slipped down. She leans into him, coughing lightly, and Natsu feels her wince against his chest, Lucy releasing a small, pained sound, catching his immediate attention.

"Lucy, you okay?" he asks her, voice thick with a combination of worry exhaustion, his limbs suddenly feeling like jelly. He stretches out his legs, Lucy coming to rest between his bent legs, her own tossed over one of his, back propped against his bent knee.

She's quiet for a moment, breathing heavy, hand coming up to rub the bruises on her throat. "Yeah," she murmurs, sighing as she shifts away from him, moving so that she's sitting beside him, shoulder pressed against his, rather than pressed against his torso. "Yeah, I'm fine," she tells him, twisting around to reach for her wet clothes, still lying in a heap nearby.

She flicks them out, sending chilly water splattering around them, though neither appear to mind. Lucy lays them by the fire, close enough to warm and dry them, but not so close as to set them aflame.

His lip press into a thin line, Natsu not entirely believing her, confused as Lucy refuses to look at him. "You sure?" he murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear. Something's wrong, it has been for a while now, but he can't place what seems off with her. It's like she's been shying, not necessarily scared, but certainly closed off. At times it seems like she's about to say something, but can't out the words.

She thinks he doesn't notice, but he has, and he's worried about her.

"I'm okay, Natsu," she promises, flashing him a small smile before turning to the fire and drawing her knees close to her chest. His jacket shifts around her, and Natsu peels his gaze away from the bare skin revealed by her shifting, looking at the fire as it flickers.

Lucy is quiet for a long time, neither of them speaking as they dry off, Lucy pulling out some of the dried meat they bought in Jorah and slipping it over to him before curling tight around herself, making herself smaller to conserve heat. Exhaling through her nose, Lucy bumps her arm against his, dropping her head to rest against his shoulder, a tired sound slipping passed her lips.

He tosses his arm around her in return, giving her a slight squeeze before relaxing, simply letting his arm rest over her shoulders. She warms against his side, the fire leeching away the icy water and drawing it from her bones.

"Hey, Natsu?" she whispers after several minutes of silence, lips moving against his arm, breath ghosting over the fresh stitches on his chest. She leans further into his side, and Natsu can tell be the thickness of her voice that she's growing tired, sleeping pulling at her despite the sun still being up, sunset only just beginning to bleed across the sky.

Natsu glances down at her, swallowing before he replies, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "Yeah?" he breathes back, eyes slipping shut as he basks in the firelight.

She takes a deep, shaky breath, shuddering slightly. "What happens when a Berserk bites someone?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper, the words rough, as if it hurts her to say them. It very well might, her throat still raw and badly bruised.

Wincing at the thought, Natsu again wishes he could have done something to help her, wishes he could have gotten to her faster. It takes a moment for the question to register, but when it does he frowns, lips twisting in confusion, his eyes widening in shock. "What?" he sputters, head snapping around to stare down at her. Lucy flinches at the sharpness in his tone and he quiets himself, thumb rubbing against her arm gently. "What brought this on?" Natsu asks her, lowering his voice to a husky whisper.

Lucy shrugs, movement jostling his arm. He feels her lashes flutter against his arm, Lucy blinking slowly. "Just curious, I guess." She doesn't sound curious, more nervous than anything. "I don't know a lot about you," she hums in thought, "or people like you."

He considers her question again, confused. "Nothing should happen," he tells her, hand slipping down to curl around her elbow, a sick feeling suddenly curling through his stomach, this time not due to the cold water still clinging to his skin. "It's just a bite," he continues, half speaking to himself. Lucy jolts against him, sucking in an angry breath. "Somethin' wrong?" He wants to help, but he can't do that if she won't talk to him.

Lucy pulls back just enough to look him in the eyes, managing a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "No," Lucy says, "everything's fine."

Natsu doesn't believe her.

* * *

 **AN: EDITED 5/20/18**


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/20/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twenty Six**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Natsu is amazed by how much the landscape has changed so quickly. They've been walking for days through snow and open ground, nothing to be seen for miles besides the mountains of Stella off to their left, a constant, looming presence that felt more protective than anything else. Ever present, the mountains stayed at their side for the better part of their trek through the icy lands, Natsu coming to enjoy them more than he ever expected. They were beautiful, high peaks covered in ice and snow, the snow catching the light and bathing the mountains in an ethereal glow. It was enough to steal his breath, to make him understand what nature's true beauty could be.

He's seen beautiful things before, but he's also seen cruel things, violent things that haunt him in his sleep. He wishes they would disappear, not wanting to see them flicker behind his closed eyes, but knowing that he must appreciate the true, unaltered beauty of nature more because of it. Everything seems a bit brighter to him, now that they've left Pergrande so far behind them.

Now, however, the scenery has changed dramatically, open sheets of ice have turned into a great forest, towering pines stretching high into the air, Natsu barely able to see the tops at times. They disappear into the clouds, standing tall and proud, magnificent giants watching over them. He hadn't thought he was missing the forests in Pergrande, them reminding him too much of what happened to them there, the fighting and the death and blood, the violence he caused, but when he saw the trees a flicker of relief flooded through his veins, Natsu relaxing only the slightest, muscles losing some of their tension. He felt at home among the trees, like he could breathe easier. It was hard for them, traveling through Mithriel.

The cover is appreciated. He doesn't feel nearly as exposed anymore, not like he did before. Traversing through open ground can be dangerous, it _was_ dangerous for them. He could see for what seemed like miles, but so could others, and that could cause problems. It did cause problems. They wouldn't have been ambushed like that if they were in the cover of trees. Natsu would have heard them coming, the snapping of branches a give away. It may have been harder to maneuver, but they may not have had to fight at all if they hadn't been surprised. Perhaps then neither of them would have been hurt.

There's nothing they can do to change that now, however. It happened, they survived, though not without their own share of battle-scars. Lucy's throat is still raw and bruised, though the edges are beginning to yellow, not nearly as dark as the one's he left behind. It still terrifies him to think about how hard he must have grabbed her to leave bruises like he did, but he doesn't like to dwell on the thought, knowing it does neither of them any good. He did what he did and she forgave him. He'll never hurt her like that again, not so long as he can help it.

Her ribs are also sore, something Natsu hadn't realized until an unfortunately placed elbow bumped into her side, Lucy yelping before she could bite it back. He'd been furious with himself for not noticing it sooner, but she only waved him off, promising she was okay and that it only hurt a little. Natsu was more careful with her after that, minding her bruises and asking if it hurt.

She let him pull her shirt up her side after that, baring her discolored skin to his greedy eyes and allowing him to assess the damage. Her side was bathed in fading blue bruises, and she gasped when he trailed his fingers up her sides, Lucy trembling when his palm settled on the side of her ribcage, lightly feeling for broken bones, relieved when he found none. He glanced between her throat and her side, feeling the urge to kiss her skin like his mother used to do for him when he was hurt, but shook the thought away when Lucy shivered, his breath fanning across her belly.

Natsu faired the better of the two of them in his own opinion, though not by much. Most of his bruises are already fading, cuts superficial and more irritating than anything else. His shoulder still aches, but Lucy's stitches have held strong. They itch something fierce, but he can ignore it for the most part. He hasn't bled much since they've been put in, and they seem to be healing well, according to Lucy.

He isn't the best judge when it comes to them, never having had stitches before he met her. Mostly, the Centari king would simply let them bleed until their wounds closed over on their own, uncaring unless an infection set in. The man may have been more cruel than anything Natsu could have ever imagined, but he always made sure to keep them alive, not wanting his best soldiers to rot from the inside out.

His lip curls up in a sneer, but Natsu bites back a growl at his thoughts, not wanting to startle Lucy, who's busy staring down at the new map in her hands almost giddily.

They came across a small town only an hour back, the only one they've seen so far. Lucy explained to him that most Mithrien cities lie north, bordering the ocean coast, the nation relying on imports to survive the harsh winters. Mithriel also has its share of exports, mostly highly prized furs and rum, as well as smaller objects carved from beautiful stones.

A shop owner in Parsum, the town they stumbled upon, was kind enough to show them a few. Most were carved into the shapes of animals, some Natsu couldn't recognize: snakes, deer, birds, even a fiery red stone carved into he shape of a phoenix, wings spread and delicate wisps of fire trailing from its feathers. There were flowers as well, several dozen laid out in rows, some large and practically life-sized, resting in pretty vases.

Lucy was particularly fond of a delicate iris, white and pale lavender, delicate with its frilled edges. The shop owner gifted it to them, much to their collective surprise. The man simply explained that he was as good as retired, only continuing to make the stone carvings because of the joy it brought others. The man told them they looked like they could use a little joy.

Thankfully, the pair of them had just enough money left to buy bread and meat for the rest of their trip to Fiore, Lucy figuring it wouldn't take them more than a week to Magnolia, give or take a day or two. Bosco is storm country, they were told. It was hard to tell when the rain would get so bad they would be stuck indoors for days on end.

The thought wasn't a comforting one, but they simply smiled at the woman who told them, thanking her for the bit of advice before moving on, the two of them deciding to spend the night in an inn instead of sleeping in the woods for another night, both of them preferring something relatively warm to curling in the snow and trying fruitlessly to stay dry.

The inn made him think of Peg back in Jorah, something bitter rising in his throat as he thought about how kind she was to them, practically waving away their money and keeping mum about Natsu's blood. She could have made a large sum by turning them in to the soldiers nearby, but she didn't.

A part of him hopes she lived, but he knows better than to hold false hope. Jorah was a bloodbath, he would be surprised if anyone survived. From the hill, Natsu could only see a few people milling around below, too far away for him to recognize them, though he doubts they were anyone he was familiar with anyway.

There were a lot of people in Jorah, Natsu only met a small handful of them, though most were kind to him and Lucy.

There's a snapping sound behind them, Natsu startling when he hears it. He goes still, eyes widening and head snapping up in surprise. It's not Lucy, he knows, he girl also looking up in surprise, no wayward sticks beneath her feet. She exchanges a quick look with him, confused, and reaches for her quiver, shoving the map back into her bag as she begins to edge her bow from her shoulder, unwilling to let them be surprised again.

He blinks, something moving in the corner of his eyes. Natsu snarls, low and warning, and the creature stops, going very still just out of sight. His skin prickles, Natsu wondering if they've been caught by more rogues. Neither of them are prepared for another fight so soon, though he thinks they could win one if they needed to.

Turning slowly, he bares his teeth at whatever's coming, though his growl catches slightly as he sees what it is.

Herne, he thinks, judging from Lucy's description of the creatures. Like elk, but taller, broader in the chest and shoulders, with shaggy, snowy hair and antlers rising from their heads like branches, points sharp and dangerous. They blend in well with the trees and snow, invisible unless they shake their large heads, antlers jostling in a way unlike branches.

His breath catches when one looks at him, eyes dark and intelligent. It calls out to them, several others filing around the first, at least ten adults and a spatter of calves, wobbly on their legs and without antlers. They stare curiously, young ones nervous, skittering about. They edge around the adults, sniffing at them, but Natsu growls again and they spring back, making startled sounds.

The adults snort, amused or otherwise, he can't tell, but they don't edge closer, watching them wearily.

Natsu hears a soft gasp, turning in time to watch Lucy release a shaky breath, a smile slipping onto her face. Slipping her back over shoulder, she murmurs something, Natsu not trying to make out the words as she shifts, worming her way around him, much to Natsu's confusion. For a moment she just stands there, wide-eyed, but then she takes a step towards the beasts.

He simply watches her, Lucy's boots making soft prints in the snow, jacket half-hanging off her lithe frame as she slides up to the Herne, whispering to them. She slides up to their sides, Natsu eyeing them, concerned that they could hurt her with their sharp antlers and large frames, but they don't move, letting Lucy come close, her hand outstretched to touch the leader, a small smile creeping onto her face. He merely watches in amazement.

The Herne leans into her hand, nosing at her, and he hears Lucy giggle in response, the deer's breath puffing against her gently, the cloud of its breath billowing in the air. She strokes its nose and then down the side of its neck, fingers disappearing in the shaggy hair.

Natsu smiles when the large creature presses into her hand, several others coming up to crowd around her, wanting attention as well. One knocks its head against her shoulder, snorting in disdain about not getting attention, and Lucy laughs as she lifts her other hand, carting it through the thick fur, much to the animals obvious enjoyment.

He remembers that Lucy called them fairy deer once, casually as they sat nestled in the cave. She told them stories about them, things she heard from her mother, how they were friends to the Faeborne, able to sense their magic and actively seek them out, though she wasn't sure if they were real.

He doesn't think she has any doubts now.

Her magic picks up, air swirling around her happily, light, merely ruffling her hair and jacket, doing little else.

The Herne jostle her around, Lucy shaking with barely contained laughter. Natsu laughs as well, amused with the sight of Lucy pressed up on her toes to pat the nose of a Herne in the back, trying her hardest to give them all equal attention. The deer are all gentle around her, not shoving at each other and doing little more than bumping against her softly, trying to gain her attention, mindful of their antlers.

A calf bleats, nosing at Lucy's ribs, and though she winces at the feeling she turns to pet it, locking eyes with Natsu as she twists around.

Natsu's breath catches slightly in his throat when she looks at him, his mirthful expression slipping into one of wonder, his gaze tangled with hers. He swallows, taking in Lucy's bright eyes and messy, wind-whipped hair, loose around her head, no braids to be found. Strands fall in her eyes, but she shoves them back, reaching out her free hand and beckoning him towards her, murmuring his name gently.

Natsu is suddenly struck by the image of Ferja, an old animal goddess that Igneel once told him stories about, rumored to be the most beautiful thing imaginable, with eyes deep as the earth, both gentle and more fierce than any man or beast.

He's on his feet before he realizes it, eyes never once leaving hers, heart stuttering in his chest as he wanders over to her. Her fingers tangle with his and she pulls him forward, the calf pressed between them, its fur tickling his chest.

A few of the deer startle as he comes close, weary as they eye him much as he had them, recognizing the Berserk scent clinging to his skin. One snorts distrustfully, but they don't step away as he nears them, simply watch him carefully.

Lucy guides his hand, leading him to pet the nose of the largest Herne, the leader of the little group. It sniffs at his fingers, hesitating for several seconds before leaning in and pressing its warm muzzle into his hand, allowing Natsu to pet it. Her throat goes tight at the gesture, his hands growing braver as he reaches out to stroke down the beasts fur, the Herne tossing its head in delight, a high pitched bleat coming from the deer.

He gives a breathless laugh, surprised and elated, most animals wanting nothing to do with him, as if they can tell what he is.

Something nudges his hip, warm lips nibbling at his skin, and Natsu glances down to see a smaller calf beside him, blinking up with large, soft eyes. It grows impatient with his lack of attention, nipping at him with dull teeth, and Natsu smiles, reaching down to pet it.

It doesn't pull back.

* * *

The Herne follow them until they reach the border with Bosco, filing around them and nosing for food. They provide good company for the few hours they travel with the pair, older creatures standing around them almost protectively, the young ones running along ahead, playing and bleating happily. They were amusing to watch, slipping around in the snow and butting heads with one another. A pair tried to persuade Natsu to play with them, but he merely waved them off, much to their disappointment. They weren't dissuaded, however, continuing to come back and nudge at him every few minutes.

Natsu and Lucy stop to watch the Herne disappear back into the trees, watching with fond smiles as they walk away, heads tossing happily and tails flicking about. The leader of the small band stays back for an extra minute, merely waiting beside them before sniffing at Lucy's hair and turning to spring back into the trees without a backwards glance.

As they slip across the border, which is nothing more then an old, rickety fence that they have to hop over, Natsu takes a moment to look around, eyes wide as he takes in their surrounds. He's a bit surprised with how thing look, having been expecting something more from the new land, though Bosco hardly looks any different from Mithriel.

The land is warmer with less snow, but overall looks no different from the last few miles they traveled in Mithriel. Mountains rise on either side of them, a ways off, but still towering high above them. The forest is thick, pines mingling with leafier trees, blocking out most of the light from above and casting shadows across the ground.

Overall, Natsu thinks it's nice, quiet and dark, but with a less threatening atmosphere than Pergrande and even Mithriel.

"Welcome to Bosco," Lucy tells him, waving around an arm in a sarcastic little flourish. There's something bitter in her expression, which confuses Natsu, but he decides it's best not to ask, figuring it's nothing important. If it was, he guesses she would tell him, especially if there was something dangerous about the country. He knows very little of Bosco, but what he does know isn't pretty at all.

He snorts in response, sending her a grin that the she returns easily, eyes sparking with mischief that he's grown quite fond of. "It doesn't look very different from Mithriel," he notes, casting a quick glance around them, squinting through the trees when he sees a bird fly, disappearing into the shadows.

Lucy laughs, gaze amused when she looks at him, walking backwards to hold his gaze. "Did you think there'd be a sign?" she jokes, honey eyes practically lighting up. She's more relaxed than he's seen her in days, and he's happy to see the brightness warming her eyes now that she's in more familiar territory.

She stumbles slightly, tripping over a branch beneath her foot, but Natsu grabs her by the wrist to hold her up, laughing at the little gasp that tumbles from her mouth, much to her embarrassment. Her arm slips from his grip, Lucy continuing to walk backwards, though more carefully this time, Natsu still ready to catch her should she slip.

"It would be helpful," he notes in response to her question, shrugging slightly. Lucy merely smiles back, so Natsu decides to ask a question that's been nipping at his thoughts for days now, nothing too important, simply something to ease his curiosity. "So what's Bosco like?"

Her smile slips away, Lucy twisting around so that she's walking beside him once again. "It's…" she trails off helplessly for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line and her eyes narrowing in thought. "It's not a good place," Lucy tells him, giving a little sigh as she stares off somewhere between the trees, looking at nothing in particular.

Natsu frowns down at her, brow furrowing. "What do you mean?" He knows Bosco isn't the best of places, but he doubts it could be nearly as bad as Pergrande, with its malicious king and cruel soldiers. He's seen many towns be destroyed, burned to nothing all to send a message. Fear-mongering. Anything to keep the citizens compliant with the crown.

"Bosco…," she starts slowly, chewing her bottom lip in thought. "It's entire economy runs on trade," Lucy tells him, peeking up at him for only a moment. "Mostly human trafficking, which you already know." It hangs in the air between them, thick and heavy, but Lucy doesn't linger on the silence. "Crime rate is high, people are taken off the streets, sold like animals. It would be safer to travel through Seven but…" Lucy shrugs.

"But this is faster," he finishes for her, nodding slowly, understanding. They're both exhausted and bruised, still beaten down from everything that's occurred. An extra week of travel might be safer, but they'll only be more tired should they run into trouble.

She hums in agreement, more to herself than him. "Besides," she says with a smile, looking up at him with a touch of humor in her gaze. "I think we can handle ourselves, given the circumstances."

Natsu frowns down at her, head tilting to one side in confusion. "And what circumstances are those?" he asks, looking down at Lucy curiously, eager to hear what's on her mind. He likes listening to her talk, hearing the different range of emotions in her words, sometimes unable to simply keep up with her thoughts.

Her arm bumps against his playfully, Lucy looking away from him, though the smile never leaves her. "Well," she says, wetting her lips, "I haven't seen you lose a fight yet." It's a simple fact, though he feels something like pride well within him, it sounding almost like a praise coming from Lucy. Though, perhaps it's only his ego hearing what it wants to.

She's wrong though. He has lost a fight since they've been together, and a very important one at that. "I lost to you," he reminds her gently, bumping her back. And he'll always be grateful that he did. If he hadn't, he'd be back in the capital by now, probably back in his cage or fighting in the ring for the amusement of rich, bored men and women eager to watch him bleed.

"Not technically," Lucy argues, though she only sounds half-serious, more teasing than anything. He's beginning to think that Lucy enjoys a good argument. Nothing serious, of course, but enough for a bit of a verbal spar. She's hard to keep up with and he doesn't find himself to be a very good opponent, but she doesn't seem to mind. "If I hadn't gotten that collar off when I did," she protests, "I probably wouldn't be alive right now."

He smiles down at her, arm pressing against hers until she finally blinks up at him. When her eyes lock with his, Natsu's expression becomes serious, wanting to make sure she really hears him, not just listens. "Don't sell yourself short," he tells her, gentle but firm, and Lucy's eyes widen.

"Excuse me?" she chokes out, looking surprised by his words. Natsu wonders if anyone has ever told her how strong she really is.

"I said don't sell yourself short," he repeats, coming to a sudden halt. Lucy stills as well, turning to face him more directly. "You figured out what the collar did," Natsu reminds her, gesturing to her bag with a jerk from his chin. "No one else has done that before." In all the years the king has been using them, no ever thought to see if it was dark magic affecting them. No one but Lucy. "And you got it off me while you could barely breathe." She looks away, but he only smiles. "That's something to be proud of Lucy. You lived," he says softly. "Not a lot of people do that."

Laughing, Lucy shakes her head, amused when she looks up at him. "I think you're overestimating me," she tells him.

Natsu is already shaking his head before she's finished. "I'm not," he affirms, expression utterly serious when he stares down at her. "You just underestimate yourself." Her shock is evident, but he isn't finished, not yet. "I've seen you fight, Lucy." She fiddles with her bowstring, but doesn't look away from him. "Don't forget that you've saved my ass as many times as I have yours, probably more."

"Now you're just exaggerating," she teases, but her expression starts to perk up, Lucy not looking nearly as cheerless as she did a moment ago. She doesn't smile, but he can see it edging at her lips, just waiting to be let go.

Natsu laughs, shaking his head incredulously. "I'm not," he insists, reaching out to poke a finger towards her bag, jostling it slightly. "You managed to steal from a king." It's impressive, especially to him. No one had ever dared to steal from the Centari king, not in all the years her lived in Pergrande. No one but a tiny girl from Fiore with more fire in her than any Berserk Natsu has ever seen.

Lucy scoffs, but it's more playful than disagreeing. "He's old and getting senile," she tells him, a hint of humor in her voice that makes him laugh.

"We both know he's not," Natsu argues, snorting as he tries to hold back his laughter. The Centari king, while certainly aging, if very much in control of his mind, still as sharp as he's always been. The man is no older than sixty, after all. "You snuck out of one of the most heavily guarded capitals in the world." He'll keep listening her feats for as long as she keeps arguing, mostly because he thinks she needs to hear it, but also because it's fun to argue with her like this.

Stiffening slightly, Lucy shakes her head, arms wrapping around herself protectively. "I got caught," she admits softly, unable to look him in the eyes. Her lower lip finds its way between her teeth, a sad sound tumbling from her.

Shrugging, Natsu takes a step closer to her. "You got away." She looks up at him, blinking slowly. "You ran on a busted leg and still almost managed to outrun me," he lists, ducking his head slightly to better meet her eyes. "You fought a raging Berserk and lived."

"I also ran away from one," she says, so soft he almost doesn't hear her. Her expression twists into something unfamiliar and self-loathing, Lucy wincing at her admission.

Natsu's smile slips away, his brow furrowing as he looks down at her, not liking the look in her eyes. "What's with that face?" he teases, hoping to lighten the conversation, if only a little, but Lucy doesn't bite, shaking her head slowly.

Lucy takes a deep, shuddery breath and he thinks she might be about to cry, but the tears don't come, her eyes glossy and melancholy, but not spilling over. "I just ran away and left you there," she murmurs, more to herself than him. "You could have died." Her eyes snap up to lock with his, her face a shade paler than it was moments ago. "You almost did."

He's stunned into silence for a long moment, his eyes wide as he stares down at Lucy, mouth moving but no sound leaving him. "Are you still mad at yourself for that?" he asks her softly, shaking his head sadly. Lucy looks away from him, and he knows he's right, though he can't understand why she's so upset, even though he wants to. "Do you know why I asked you to run?" he asks her softly, reaching out with one hand and tilting her chin up gently, wanting her to look at him when he says this. Her eyes meet his slowly, Natsu sending her a serious look. "It's not because you aren't strong, Lucy, because you are. Anyone with eyes can see that." Her lips slip into a small smile that only lasts for a moment, but it's enough for him to continue. "I didn't want you to get between us," he admits, sighing softly. "I almost lost control of myself. I _did_ , for a moment," he corrects himself. "And if you had been there, I didn't know if I would recognize you, or if you would just be another hazy face."

If she had been there, he doesn't know if she would still be here now, and that terrifies him. He doesn't have the collar anymore, but he's still a slave to his anger.

"You have better control over yourself than that," she tells him, reaching out to link her fingers through his and squeeze.

Natsu shakes his head, smiling down at her sadly, feeling tired all the way to his bones. "I don't." He looks away from her briefly, wetting his lips. "I can always feel it, clawing to get out," Natsu admits to her, free hand coming up to rub at his chest, fingers brushing against the stitches in his skin. "I'm trying to work on it, but…" he trails off slightly, shrugging, "it's hard. Igneel was teaching me how, but with him gone I just—" Natsu swallows. "I thought you were dead in that fight and I snapped," Natsu tells her honestly, looking into her wide eyes. "Only for a second, but I snapped." Her fingers squeeze around his. "And I can't do that," he shakes his head, leaning in a bit closer, "not with you around. Not with other people around. Not when I can't fully control it."

She's silent for a long moment, but then she nods, slow and understanding, her eyes brimming with determination. "So you work on it," she says, curling her fingers through his and taking a small step backwards, pulling him along with her, the two of them continuing on their way. "You work on it, and I'll help you," she promises.

Natsu blinks down at her in surprise, letting her pull him along. He simply nods after a long moment, unsure what to say to her.

She doesn't seem to be expecting anything, only wanting to be there to help him if he needs it. And he appreciates that, more than she'll ever know. Natsu knows she'll help him, even if he doesn't ask her to she'll always be there.

He just hopes that Lucy knows that he would do the same for her.

* * *

 **AN: edited 5/20/18**


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/21/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twenty Seven**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

They've been walking for four days when they come across Narja, a trading port in the center of Bosco and one of the busiest cities in the country. The streets are teaming with people, more than either Natsu or Lucy have ever been around before in their lives. Lucy stays close to Natsu's side, arm hooked through his to avoid them losing sight of each other in the crowd, the pair of them sure to be swept away from each other if they aren't careful.

Though, that seems to be less of a problem than Lucy was originally expecting. Natsu refused to wear his jacket in Bosco, not wanting to hide himself now that they were far from Pergrande. Berserks are free citizens in Bosco, though not necessarily welcome. He won't be arrested by soldiers unless he causes problems. Which he won't, Lucy knows, not on purpose, but that doesn't mean others won't try to start something with them, especially so close to the heart of Bosco. There's no peace in slave cities.

It's a dangerous city for both of them, Natsu for his blood and Lucy for everything else. If they end up separated unintentionally, things could go very wrong. Natsu could easily be turned into the guards, bored citizens looking for a show. Natsu wouldn't go down easily, she knows, he would fight, but that would only make things worse for him. They would consider him to be a problem and either sell him off to the Fiore rings or perhaps back to Pergrande, and Lucy thinks he would die either way if that happened.

For her part, Lucy is more concerned with traffickers. If she's caught somewhere alone, especially at night, she knows what will happen to her. Auctions are held every week in cities like Narja, at night but also in broad daylight, people uncaring of those bought and sold. The government never has tried to hide its illegal activities, actively encouraging them at that. Slavers are common in these parts, Bosco thriving on the human trade: Berserks, women, children, anything is fair game so long as it doesn't become too well advertised.

The country thinks that if it keeps things hush it means they don't happen inside city walls. But they do happen, and with no one to stop them the trade only gets worse. More people end up dying, either because of where they're sold off to or because they fight back. Conditions worsen, people get sick, and slavers need more people to trade. Lucy figures that's how they ended up in Alvarez searching for Berserks. It's a sick cycle, more trafficking means more death, and more death means more trafficking. There's no reprieve.

And it only spread, passed the Ishgar borders, traversing oceans and consuming the world like a plague. With Bosco exhausting its own people and Fiore not allowing human trade, the only places to go were overseas where things were less regulated. Lucy doesn't know how Natsu was caught, if he was found alone or sold off by someone, but she doesn't think she wants to know.

She hasn't experienced the traffickers for herself, but she's heard stories of their brutality, of how horribly they treat their charges, and she doesn't want to imagine a younger Natsu being subjected to them. He said he was only six years old when he came to Fiore, so young, and she doesn't like to think about what they must have done to him or any of the others like him.

It's cruel what people do to others. She doesn't understand it, but she doesn't think she wants to.

Natsu's fingers curl through hers suddenly, the Berserk dragging her along behind him as they weave through the city streets. Narja is a dark, damp place with storm clouds looming overhead and people constantly watching from the shadows, staring with hungry eyes. She can hear whispering when she walks by alleys, nothing loud enough for her to make out, but she knows she wouldn't want to even if she could. Lucy can see the way Natsu stiffens as they pass people, his lips curving back when he hears people muttering to themselves and watching them pass.

Lucy doesn't know if they're talking about him or her, but she doesn't dare ask.

She presses herself against Natsu's side, ignoring the eyes following them as she glances up at him, wondering what it is he wants. He's doesn't look at her, eyes ahead, gaze sharp and focused. He leans down, lips brushing against her ear as he speaks. "We should find an inn," he murmurs, so low Lucy almost doesn't hear him at first.

The words register a moment later, Lucy glancing up at the cloudy sky, a drizzle beginning to form. They'll be soaked within seconds if they don't a place soon, but Lucy doesn't trust anything in the area where they are now. The place is seedy, people circling around them like vultures. She knows why, of course. They're clearly strangers to the city, outsiders, and there would be no one to notice if they disappeared, not right away.

It's dangerous for them to be here, but she knows things are better towards the center of the city, nicer. More soldiers are stationed there and less people are kidnapped off the streets. The outer ring is a bad place, and Lucy doubts most people travel to the outskirts unless they absolutely have to. She's been to Narja several times for Makarov's trade, and she was never allowed anywhere without Laxus with her, especially not this far out.

It's unsafe here, she can practically smell it in the air.

A man barrels passed them, knocking into Lucy and making her stumble into Natsu, who grabs her around the waist to hold her steady, tucking her close against his side. She expects him to release her once they begin walking again, but he surprises her by keeping her close, his palm warm against her side, fingers pressed tight against her skin. She's about to ask what's wrong when she hears the low, warning growl rumbling from deep in his chest, a clear sign for people to keep away.

He doesn't like this city and neither does she. It's too crowded and there's an air of danger to the place. Lucy knows that the abundance of people are making him nervous, Natsu hyper aware of everything around them. He doesn't dare let her out of his sight, lest she get swept away.

She doesn't blame him for that.

Instead of trying to pull away, Lucy presses tighter to his side, though she doesn't curl her arm around him in return, not wanting them to be too tangled together should something happen. It's better if they can break apart quickly, rather than waste time unwrapping themselves from each other.

Lucy leans into him, tugging on his arm to get him to lean down towards her. He complies, ducking his head so that she can whisper in his ear. "Anywhere specific?" she asks him, wondering how far he wants to go. They could easily make it to the other side of the city, but Lucy doubts that it would be any better than where they are now. Heading for the center would be best, but she'd rather go where he's more comfortable. There will only be more people in the market district.

Natsu's arm squeezes around her tightly, finger curling around her hip as he presses her to him, considering the question. He's close enough that she can hear him swallow, Natsu's teeth grinding together roughly. Lucy shivers against his side, feeling someone watching them, and Natsu's gaze sweeps around the area, his lips curving back over his teeth threateningly. "Not here," he growls against her ear, the sound making Lucy's breath catch in her throat.

He snarls suddenly, and Lucy sees a middle-aged man scurry away from them. She doesn't know how long he was hovering behind them or what he was planning to do, but Lucy decides she doesn't want to know—unsure how Natsu might react to anything vile on the man's mind.

She covers his hand on her hip with her own, tangling their fingers together briefly. "Okay," she whispers back, suddenly feeling very small in this city. Even in Đüskell she hadn't felt this small, and the capital of Pergrande is at least three times the size of Narja. There's something about this place that feels dangerous, like there's a plague slowly creeping through the city, simply waiting to infect anyone that moves too slowly.

The thought makes her skin crawl, and Lucy tucks herself closer against Natsu's side, his body heat chasing away the mind numbing chill that seems be following them through the city. She sighs in relief as he squeezes her hip, not knowing until just now how absolutely thankful she is not to be alone right now. She hadn't been thinking about her return trip through Bosco, too focused on Pergrande and the necklace to think about what she would do later. A mistake on her part, she knows, but now she has Natsu with her, and she doesn't feel nearly as unsafe as she thought she would.

His warm breath puffs against her ear, his temple pressing to hers as he leans down. "Did you stay here on your way through?" he asks, a low note to his voice that makes her pause. There's an edge of disbelief there, and something angry as well, as if Natsu couldn't believe anyone would ever stay in this city. She doesn't blame him.

"I did," she hums in response, nose wrinkling when his hair tickles her cheek. "In a place called the Iron Heart," Lucy tells him, her lips quirking slightly at the thought. The inn, while not the nicest of places, was secure and about the safest it could be in the city. She had paid for the night as well as a return trip, which cost most of her savings, much to her annoyance. She only hopes she still has the card the innkeeper gave her.

Lucy doesn't know if he'll let them in for another night if she doesn't have the card. The old man at the desk seemed pleasant enough, but she knows how deceiving looks can be.

Natsu hums a low note in his throat, considering it. "Is it safe?" he asks her, nosing at her gently to hold her attention. His fingers begin to tap a strange pattern against her side, the motion tickling her, but Lucy holds back a laugh, squirming slightly. Natsu smiles against her hair, drumming his fingers once more and this time she can't help but laugh, much to Natsu's apparent satisfaction.

Lucy snorts in response to his question, scoffing slightly. "I got to Pergrande, didn't I?" she says, not looking for an answer. Natsu chuckles, thumb brushing against her hip in a strange apology. "There are guards stationed outside," she informs him, taping the back of his palm with a finger. "The owner seems particular about keeping guests safe." An overstatement, maybe, but Lucy doesn't think most innkeepers hire guards to watch over them at night.

It's for the money, she supposes, wrinkling her nose.

"Do you remember where it is?" he asks her, wetting his lips and urging her to walk a little faster, the rain finally beginning to drip down on them. It's nothing more than a light drizzle, hardly anything to worry about, but neither of them want to end up soaked by the rain. Natsu weaves them through the streets quickly, hardly slowing when one of them slips on wet cobblestones.

She nods, walking faster to better keep pace with him. "Yeah," she whispers back to him, "follow me and stay close." It comes out as more of a demand than anything else, Lucy wrapping her hand tight around his as they hurry through the streets. She winces after saying it, but Natsu only chuckles and follows her lead, squeezing her fingers in return.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises, lips pressed against her ear. His thumb barely brushes against her fingers, but Lucy feels him, grip tightening on his hand for a short moment before she releases him entirely.

They walk in silence for several minutes, wandering the streets and getting turned around in the large city, Lucy trying her hardest to remember where the inner city gates are located. It's slow going, neither of them knowing the city and both thinking it's too dangerous to ask for directions, lest they wander upon something sinister. Lucy wouldn't put it passed anyone to set them up, knowing how desperate people can be.

After a moment of slipping through the wet, dirty streets Lucy hears Natsu scoff, practically snarling as they walk by a group of drunken men. The sight makes Lucy all too aware of how late it's gotten, the sun gone from the sky and darkness creeping around them quickly.

"You passed through here on your own before?" Natsu asks her, spitting in disgust and wrapping his arm more protectively around her, fingers shaking away from hers and his hand slipping further around her until his fingers are splayed across her belly and lower ribcage. His hand twitches against her, Lucy feeling every flex of his fingers, Natsu nervous against her. He's acting like he has an itch, twitching and rolling his shoulders the way he is.

She knows what he's doing, trying to make himself look larger, more threatening to the people around them, hoping to dissuade people from approaching them. He's been doing a marvelous job so far, his growling and snarling doing wonders to keep people away, save for the bravest of them.

Lucy is well aware that Natsu would never hurt anyone that didn't deserve it or attack him first, but she can't blame others for being wary. The Natsu she knows is very different from the Berserk baring his teeth as anyone that comes too close to them. He's doing a spectacular job at keeping people away, and she would tease him about it if she wasn't so relieved. He isn't half as scary as he likes to pretend he is, not most days, but she thinks that can be their little secret.

It takes her a moment to register his question, Lucy lost to her thoughts, albeit unintentionally. She shakes her head slowly in reply, glancing up and locking eyes with Natsu. A droplet of water runs down the bridge of his nose before dropping onto her own, Lucy yelping in surprise and making him laugh.

Huffing, she considering ignoring him, but quickly decides she likes the sound of his voice more than she does the thick silence that seems to be closing in on them with every step they take. "I was with a family traveling to Stella," Lucy says to him, absentminded hand coming up to play with the red fabric near his hips, finger tracing the gold edging. "They offered to give me a ride since I was headed in that direction." She gives a half-shrug, not knowing what else to say.

They were a quiet family, five of them in total. It was a couple traveling with their three children, a son around Natsu's age, daughter a little younger, and a third son only around the age of ten. They were kind enough, but Lucy can't begin to remember their names, the memory lost to her after everything else that's happened.

It's been months, after all, and she doubts they remember her.

Natsu nods, evidently satisfied with her answer. "Good," he murmurs back, his shoulders relaxing, Lucy not having noticed them tense in the first place. "This place doesn't look safe for anyone," he tells her, casting a disgusted look at the ground as they skirt around what looks like a smear of blood, the ground tinged red with something.

Lucy pretends she doesn't see the wayward shoe laying in the mouth of the alley they pass.

"Much less a girl?" she scoffs. It's a joke more than anything, but the humor falls flat. Narja really doesn't seem safe, not at night. She's sure the city is nicer in the daytime, when people are less obvious about their ill intent, but under the cover of night Lucy has no doubt that this place is dangerous and all sorts of vile. Women, especially, are at the center of human trade, constantly going missing in this city.

He shakes his head, cheek brushing against hers almost apologetically. "Much less anyone traveling alone," he corrects her gently, a hard edge to his words that she knows aren't directed towards her.

She peeks up at him, but Natsu's gaze is far away, his fingers twitching nervously against her stomach. Lucy watches his throat bob with a hard swallow, Natsu chewing the inside of his cheek thoughtlessly. "Natsu," she breathes up at him, back of her hand tapping against his hip. He snaps back to attention, green eyes drifting back to her. He seems to deflate when he sees her, shoulders losing some of their tension. "Are you okay?" Lucy asks, eyes searching his for an answer.

" 'M fine," he mumbles back, softening slightly. His lips twitch into a ghost of a smile, his eyes flickering nervously up ahead of them before coming back to hers. "I didn't like this place," he says honestly. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he grits his teeth.

"I know," she responds softly, wishing she could do something to make him less nervous, but not knowing what she could possibly do to help. She settles with finally curling her arm around his back, fingers barely grazing his side as she presses against the cool metal of his armor. "We need to get to the enter of the city." She wets her lips. "There are more soldiers there."

He chuckles, but there's no humor to it, Natsu shaking his head slowly, teeth pulling at his lip. His boots scrape against the ground, kicking up water as he moves and grumbling something low under his breath. He glances back down at her, gaze hard but not unkind. "I don't like soldiers either," he reminds her, lips pulling up in a smirk, as if it's a poor joke. Regardless, it draws a breathy laugh from Lucy and she pats his side comfortingly, reminding him that she's here for him.

"Don't worry," she says, forcing more confidence into her words than she truly feels. Natsu peers down at her curiously, lifting a brow as he waits for her to continue, head slightly cocking to one side. She smiles up at him, but it's more teeth than anything else. "If they try to stop you," she promises, fingers squeezing his side suddenly, his skin firm and hot beneath her fingertips, "I'll punch them in the face."

It startles him into a laugh, Natsu stumbling to a stop and doubling over, loud snorts coming from him. He drags her against his chest, pulling her into a hug with his other arm coming to wrap around her tightly. Her own arms slip around him, palms pressed to his bare back. She feels him smile against her hair, Natsu nosing at her. "Somehow, I don't doubt that," he mumbles against her, squeezing her around the waist.

She sinks into him, sighing against his throat, and Natsu's lips slide along her temple, lingering briefly.

* * *

Lucy thinks they might be lost, the two of them finding themselves circling the center wall separating the slummy, outer edge of Narja for what seems like hours, but never finding the gates. It's making her worried, Lucy afraid that they might be locked out for the night, arriving too late. She doesn't know when they close, assuming it to be around midnight. Her best bet is that they have around two hours before they're locked tight, but she can't be sure. Besides that, they're no closer to finding the gates now than they were earlier, much to her frustration.

There should be four of them, at least. She remembers counting them when she was younger. One in each direction. It should have been a straight shot between the outer gate leaving the city and the innermost wall, but they still haven't found it.

Something's wrong, she knows. The gate should have been there, but it wasn't. It's unusual and she remembers it being there only a few months back. There's no way the gates have been closed off, the inner circle would starve during the winter and she knows that any merchants paranoia over slaver traders is outweighed by their greed for travelers money.

Her hand slips into her pocket briefly, Lucy running her fingers over the smooth, carved stone slipped inside her jacket. She traces a petal with her finger, the motion calming her. Irises were her mothers favorite flower. Lucy distinctly remembers her growing them when she was young, having an entire garden of the blossoms and regularly bringing them inside, the entire house smelling of them for weeks at a time.

That's one of the only things Lucy remembers about her mother. The flowers and her eyes, what she smelled like. She tries to forget watching her mother die, not wanting to think about the smell of her mother's blood splattered across the ground, or the rain stinging her eyes, the smiling teeth of a monster looking back at her, bits of skin clinging to its bloody teeth. Her mother's skin.

She shivers, and Natsu must think she's cold because he draws her closer to his side, his thumb brushing against her hip almost tenderly. He hasn't relaxed at all since they've been walking, feeding off her anxiety, though she hasn't told him about the missing gate. Lucy thinks he must know, able to read her that well.

The streets have emptied, but that brings little comfort to Lucy. Empty streets are dangerous streets, especially when she can feel eyes on her. Someone's been following them, waiting to get them alone in the dark.

She can feel her pulse quicken beneath her skin, Lucy biting her lip to hold back her panic. Natsu must hear the sudden spike, his hand sliding up her side until his arm is wrapped around her shoulders, palm squeezing her upper arm gently.

Natsu freezes suddenly, Lucy coming to a jerky stop beside him, stumbling slightly, but his grip around her is firm. She's jerked back against his chest almost roughly, Lucy gasping as her back is suddenly pressed flush against him. Her head snaps up, lips already forming his name, but she's cut off by the low, dangerous snarl that tears from his throat. His lips pull back over his teeth and Lucy shivers at the warning in his eyes, Natsu staring out at the street before them.

Her head snaps up, Lucy stilling when she sees a man standing in the middle of the street, a street that was empty before. There's a scuffle off to her right, and Lucy doesn't have to look to know they're surrounded. Her right hand goes to her knives, left moving to curl around the arm Natsu has wrapped around her front, fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist.

The man steps out from the shadows, grinning at them as he comes close. Lucy's arm pulses suddenly and she feels drained, exhausted. Her legs buckle beneath her for only a moment, but Natsu holds her up, hand hot against her belly, fingers biting into her skin. Lucy regains her senses quickly, forcing herself to stand taller, knowing men like this feed off fear and weakness.

Natsu growls again, but the men ignore him, closing in around them. There are only four, maybe five that she can see, so Lucy isn't too worried. They're likely only petty thieves looking to rob them, nothing more.

"Well," the man before them drawls, stepping in close and squinting at them, "look what we have here." He grins, dark hair and scruffy beard making him look more wolf than man, his smile hungry. She shivers and his eyes seem to follow the motion, his tongue flicking out to run along his lips. "What an odd little pair you two are," he muses.

He leans in closer, but Natsu's snarl sends him skittering back a step. The arm around her grows tighter and Lucy slips the knife from her holster, sneering at the man when she sees his gaze drift low on her body, eyes lingering on her bare thighs.

His eyes make her uncomfortable, but Lucy tries not to show it, holding her head high and making sure he sees her knives glint in the moonlight.

The man's smile only grows, eyes lighting up as he drinks in her frame, humming to himself as he considers her. "How much?" he asks suddenly, head tilting to one side curiously as he observes her. His grin turns malicious when he looks at her throat, a pleased shiver wracking his body when he sees the bruises on her skin, faint but still visible. He licks his lips.

Lucy's expression twists into one of disgust and she backs further into Natsu, hearing him growl against her ear, fingers tight against her shoulder. "Excuse me?" she snarls at the man, grip tightening around the first knife she finds, Lucy not caring which it is.

Lazy eyes drift up to meet hers, a sharp edge to his gaze. "I wasn't talking to you, Little Girl," he snarls at her, turning to spit on the ground. A look of disgust crosses his face and then his eyes peel away from her, glancing over her head to look at Natsu. "How much," he repeats, louder this time, "for her." He cocks his head towards Lucy and leans in so close that she can smell him.

She reacts by swiping her knife at him, drawing a thin line of blood across his face. "Ooh, feisty," he cackles, taking a step back out of her reach. He lifts a hand, wiping the line of blood from skin and observing his finger curiously. "I like that." He sends her a salacious grin and she spits at him.

"Go fuck yourself," she snaps at him, winding her way out of Natsu's grasp to stand beside him, not knowing if there's going to be a fight, but wanting to be prepared regardless. She stares him down and he laughs at her, head thrown back and shoulders shaking.

He stops just as suddenly as he started, expression turning serious and malicious. "You got quite the mouth on ya," he observes, lifting a brow in her direction. She hears movement behind her, though not close enough to be concerning. The man's gaze flicks to Natsu. "You put it to good use?" The implication is clear and Natsu lunges forward with a roar, Lucy barely having time to twist around and catch him, her knife clattering to the ground. He doesn't resist her, much to her relief.

More laughter. "Touchy, I see," he comments, teasing. Lucy shoves Natsu back and the man shakes his head, humming to himself. "I'm sure if the big bad Berserker hasn't _used_ you yet," he sneers, gaze sparking with mischief, "someone else would love to."

He reaches for her before either of them can react, jerking Lucy forward so that she's flush against him. She gasps, eyes going wide, but her feet not stopping their stumble. A hand gropes at her ass, Lucy being rocked forward against the man's hips. He moans in her ear loudly and Lucy shoves him back, hand whipping across his face without a second thought.

He stumbles back, surprised, but doesn't have a moment to react before he's suddenly being slammed back against the wall, Natsu holding him by the throat. There's a murmur of surprise around them, the sound of weapons being drawn. Lucy thinks she can hear the soft click of a flintlock, her eyes widening. The weapons are new on the market, expensive and hard to find. They're pretty to look at, but worthless in a fight when compared with a broadsword or a bow.

Natsu snarls in the man's face, fingers squeezing tightly around his neck. "You touch her again," Natsu growls, baring his teeth threateningly, "and I'll—"

A scoff cuts him off, the man wheezing around the tight grip on his neck. "Oh, I know what you'd do to me, Berserker," he sneers, laughing in Natsu's face, seemingly unconcerned with the hand around his throat. "Monsters, the lot of ya," he spits, saliva splattering across the ground.

Natsu flinches and she's behind him before she realizes it, a hand on his arm. He stiffens, but doesn't let go. "Natsu, don't," she says softly, "they're not worth it." His eyes slide sideways to look at her, widening in disbelief.

"Lucy, he _touched_ you," Natsu hisses between clenched teeth. Saying it out loud only seems to make his anger grow. Natsu presses the stranger tighter to the wall, grip bruising. Lucy is suddenly reminded of a very similar situation back in Jorah.

She sighs, grip on his arm tightening. They don't have time for this. "Natsu, if you hurt him, they'll report you," she tells him softly, breathing the words against his ear. "The guards will take you in and then what?" Lucy asks him, reaching out to turn his face towards her. "I'll just be out here alone." It seems to get through to him, Natsu grip slackening, though not entirely. "Let him go, please." He doesn't, fingers suddenly regaining their bruising grip. "Natsu!"

Natsu leans in, whispering something to the man that Lucy can't hear, then drops him. The man coughs, but Natsu doesn't do anything else, just reaches for her, guiding her closer when her fingers curl through his. "Come on," he mumbles against her temple, guiding her away without another word.

* * *

 **AN: edited 5/21/18**


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/21/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twenty Eight**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

She's been staring at the wall for what seems like hours, simply waiting for something to happen. Her cup of cider is half empty before her, but still does wonders to chase away the cold creeping through the tavern, steam billowing from the mug and the tantalizing scent of apples curling through her lungs. Lucy inhales deeply, feeling more relaxed than she has in days. The tavern is friendly, not nearly as damp and dark as the streets they were walking the night before.

It took them some time to find the gate, and they were just in time. A guard let them pass with little persuasion, taking in their drenched forms with a small, sympathetic smile and ushering them forward, albeit nervously. He kept glancing at Natsu like the Berserk might attack, but Natsu was practically asleep on his feet, too tired to do much but let her lead him around.

They found the Iron Heart quickly, Lucy scrambling to find the small, rumbled card in her bag, the magic keeping it from her for several minutes, seemingly amused by Lucy dropping water all over the innkeeper's clean floors, the man waiting patiently for Lucy to find it. He let them in with little trouble ushering them up to an open room without a word, key dangling from his finger.

There room was small, but clean and warm and that's all they could ask for. Both were tired and wet and made quick work of changing and crawling into the bed, falling asleep quickly and without so much as a word shared between them. They didn't need to say anything, both understanding that anything they had to say could wait until morning, if it needed to be said at all.

Her fingers drum against the bar counter, Lucy perched on a stool with one leg tossed over the other, chin resting on her palm as she traces the delicate carving along the back wall of the tavern. It's a simple pattern, nothing more than thin lines and curls, gold filigree inlaid within the pattern, standing out beautifully against the dark, ebony wood. The sign hanging above the tavern door was similar, iron twisted into the shape of a roaring bear's head, the name Beartooth Tavern scrawled beneath, lettering bold and dark, standing out against the gold.

Lucy doesn't know what drew her to this place. It was nothing special when they were passing it the night before, the place just dreary as everywhere else in Narja. She thinks maybe it was the light flickering through a closed window and spilling beneath the door, the sound of laughter, the scent of magic in the air.

While Bosco thrives on the slave trade, there's also an abundance of magic spilling from the country, mostly smaller spells created by second or third generation Fae, what's left of them. Most Faeborne migrated west when the killings in Pergrande began. Countries such as Fiore, Bosco, and Minstrel some of the only places for Fae to flourish. They aren't perfect, but magic is more common this far west.

Lucy comes from a family of elemental Fae, leading all the way back to Anna several generations back. Though diluted, they still posses the innate abilities of their elders. While an air affinity is the most common, there have been several lightning users, and her great-grandmother Daryha was able to control water. However, elementals are only one sub branch, rarer than their spell casting cousins, but no less powerful.

Bosco has a large population of spell-weavers and magic-mongers, people selling enchanted objects or potions from market stalls or larger shops, should they have the money and magic for it. Lucy remembers them passing by a large shop on their way to the inn last night, and resolves to check it out with Natsu later, should they get the chance. She's sure she could find an enchanted knife or perhaps a gag potion to use on Laxus, something to turn his face purple or make a tail sprout from his back, anything to annoy him.

There's a difference between enchanted and blessed objects. Blessed ones are harder to craft, taking more energy and time to create, but they're usually stronger, lasting longer and able to be passed through generations. Enchanted objects, while more common and cheaper, have certain limitations. Some can only be used a certain amount of times or only last as long as the user breathes, rendering them useless after a time. Potions are also different, only lasting for several days, tops. Most are meant as gag gifts, but Lucy knows that there are several powerful spells placed on them.

The crushed jasmine she used on the king was previously soaked in a sleeping spell, something that would only last for an hour at most, though the results very depending on the person.

Her grandfather Makarov is one of the only spell-weavers in their family, though his business is in enchanted weapons. He rarely makes them anymore, reserving them for the occasional commission and only enchanting them rarely. His specialty, however, lays in dream tonics, erasing nightmares and giving pleasant dreams, though they've never worked on Lucy. She doesn't know if it's because of her Fae blood or because her nightmare is a memory, not a dream, but she knows that it's no fault of Makarov's. He's a skilled magic user in his own right.

Their family always comes to the underground trade in Fiore once a year, usually for an entire month, though their time spent there occasionally varies. Centered in the coastal city of Hargeon, the trade is a hub of magical and non-magical objects: weapons, crystals, armor enlaced with protection charms. Lucy herself is particularly fond of the firestones of Minstrel, warm to the touch and glowing brightly in the darkness, though at no risk of catching fire.

She's never had quite enough to buy one, but she finds them fascinating.

Romeo is always especially glad to visit the trades, being the only non-Fae in their family. Lucy knows it bothers him at times, but he harbors no ill feelings towards them, knowing that their magic, while interesting and strange also persecutes them, their blood having been spilled generations, ripped away from them violently and leading to many cruel deaths.

Faeborne make up only a small amount of the Ishgar population, roughly a tenth but perhaps less, Lucy isn't sure. Much like the Berserks, the Fae are a dying breed.

Lucy shakes the thoughts away, sighing to herself as she goes back to her mug, lifting the cooling cider to her lips as her thoughts drift back to earlier in the day, her lips quirking into a smile as she thinks about the Berserk she hasn't seen for several hours, Natsu disappearing, off to do something she doesn't know about.

She trusts him to be careful, knowing that he can handle about anything thrown his way, even if he does worry her at times. Lucy doesn't want him to be caught alone, not in this city. At least in broad daylight her fears are quelled, Lucy knowing that no one should bother him with the sun high in the sky. The thought does much to cool her nerves, Lucy humming as she takes a long drink, her head pounding gently.

 _Lucy woke to the sound of shuffling and the bed dipping on one side, Natsu sitting up, his back facing her. She blinked, watching him stand and shuffle over to his boots, Natsu pulling something from inside them before straightening once more. Confused, Lucy continued to stare, squinting when her head began to pound, the pulsing echoed in her arm. She bit back a pained whine, lip caught between her teethe as she swallowed it back. Unsure what was happening, Lucy sunk further into the mattress, staring at Natsu's back as he moved._

 _Frowning, Lucy watched him amble towards the door without a backwards glance, her lips moving before she can stop them. "You going somewhere?" she asked, leaning up on her elbows to better face him. She shoved back her wild hair, nose wrinkling as she glanced between him and the window behind her, noticing it was still dark outside, the sun not even begun to rise._

 _Natsu startled, whipping around to face her and shoving something into the deep pocket of his dark, loose pants. She didn't dwell on it, eyes locking with Natsu's instantly. He smiled back at her, footsteps quiet as he made his way back to her, Natsu crouching beside the bed in order to better meet her eyes. "Yeah," he murmured, reaching out to brush her hair away from her eyes, fingertips lingering against her skin. "I'll be back soon," he promised, smile widening when she leaned into his palm. "There's just something I need to do."_

 _She stiffened, eyes widening slightly as she stared at him. Her chest went cold with nerves, the pain in her arm flaring. She sent him a disapproving look, hoping he wasn't planning to seek out the men they ran into the night before. She knew he had a vindictive streak judging by the way he reacted to the soldier in Jorah, but she didn't think he would go so far. "Natsu," she said, an edge of warning in her tone, gaze stern when she looked at him._

" _Not anything like that," he told her, shaking his head, already knowing where her thoughts were straying. His eyes were honest when he leaned in slightly, pressing his palm more firmly against her cheek. "I promise," Natsu whispered, voice still gruff with sleep._

 _Lucy nodded, sighing softly, but smiled in understanding. She lifted her own hand, reaching out to pat his bare shoulder, fingers squeezing around his arm for a moment before dropping back to the bed with a quiet thump. "Stay out of trouble," she joked, lips twisting into a teasing, sleepy grin. Lucy yawned, stretching for a moment before blinking up at him._

 _He chuckled in response, hand slipping from her cheek and drifting back to his side, elbows propped on his bent knees, Natsu rocking slightly on his heels as he observed her. "I will." His own eyes took on a humorous glint, his lips twisted up in amusement, Natsu quirking a brow at her. "You gonna stay here all day?" he asked her, fingers drumming against the mattress in a slow, even pattern, almost like rain._

 _Lucy shook her head, brow furrowing in thought as she considered what to do. "No," she finally told him, musing to herself. "I'll probably go out for a bit, see if I can find anything we need." While not low on supplies, Lucy couldn't be sure how long things would stay that way. Their journey seemed to be one full of setbacks and Lucy wasn't willing to risk them being unprepared for something._

" _Okay," he whispered back, standing slowly. Natsu reached out to ruffle her already tangled hair, Lucy swatting at him, unamused though he simply laughed in response, pulling his hand away before she could take another swipe at his fingers. He grinned down at her, shaking his head slowly before murmuring a goodbye and turning back towards the door, Lucy watching him go._

 _She waited until his hand was on the doorknob before calling after him, "Meet me at that tavern we passed on the way here when you're done!" She vaguely remembers seeing a sign with a bear's head, wood swinging in the breeze and merry voices spilling from behind a closed door, light flickering within._

 _Lucy figured a pub was as good a place to meet as anything else. They could eat something warm for a change, perhaps spend the day recuperating after so long. Their last real stop was the cave in Mithriel and that was near weeks earlier._

" _I will," he called back to her, green eyes locking with hers for only a moment. "I'll see you around noon." The door shut with a click behind him and Lucy sighed before curling back up in the bed, not wanting to rise before the sun._

Sighing to herself, Lucy raises a hand to her aching temple, unsure whether her head or arm hurts worse, both feeling like they're on fire. Her arm gives angry pulses from shoulder to the tips of her fingers, and Lucy can practically feel the veins spreading beneath her skin, the black blood growing thicker. She bites her lip, eyes squeezing shut as she tries to ignore it, tears beading at the corners of her eyes.

The man behind the bad sends her a look, but Lucy waves him off, a fake smile slipping across her lips as she looks at him, mumbling something that sounds like an "I'm fine" but she can't be sure. She feels hot all over, like she's running a fever, skin clammy all of a sudden, leaving her nervous, unsure what's going on.

Someone drops into the seat beside her and Lucy brightens, expecting her Berserk around this time. She's already ordered him a drink, Natsu bound to arrive anytime now. Lucy twists on her stool, mouth open to ask what it was he needed to do so early in the morning, only to freeze when she sees who's dropped into the seat beside her, jaw closing with a harsh snap of her teeth.

She meets dark, calculating and horribly familiar eyes, the man from last night smiling at her, practically sprawled across the seat as if it's his. "Well," he drawls, eyeing her hungrily, drinking in Lucy's more prominent curves, more visible now that she isn't wearing her thick coat. "Look who we have here." He grins at her, more teeth than smile. "Names Gunner," he tells her, offering her a hand.

Lucy scoffs, eyes rolling as she turns back to the bar. Her grip tightens on her mug and she wonders how satisfying it would be to shatter the heavy glass over his head. Dismissing the thought, Lucy shakes her head, not wanting to pay for the damages it would cause. "Apparently," she muses, headache only growing in response to the new arrival, "someone doesn't know when to quit."

Raising her mug to her lips, Lucy turns away with every intention of simply ignoring the man until he goes away or Natsu arrives, in no mood for a fight. Gunner seems to have other plans, his hand lashing out and wrapping around her upper arm tightly, the man ripping Lucy around in her seat so that she's forced to face him.

"You never said no," he tells her, dark eyes going back to tracing her figure, slow and menacing. Her skin crawls as his eyes trace up her body, Gunner humming slightly, clearly impressed with whatever he's seeing, much to her disgust. His gaze suddenly snaps back up to meet hers, expression imploring, as if he's waiting for an answer.

Her eyes roll once more, Lucy taking a long drink before sending him a sour look. "I'm not interested in whatever you have to offer," she replies smoothly. Lucy purses her lips, gaze slipping down his body and settling on the space between his legs. She squints for a moment, then raises an unimpressed brow as her eyes snap up to meet his. "Which doesn't look like much," she muses, a slight hiss to her words.

The jab has its intended effect. Gunner reels back in his seat, snarling at her, and Lucy covers her smile by taking another drink, satisfied with the result. "You bitch," he snarls at her, hand shooting out to wrap around her wrist tightly, likely to drag her up against him or worse.

Lucy intercepts his grab, ripping her arm out of his grip only for her own fingers to curl around his arm, slamming his hand against the wooden bar before them. The force rattles the drinks lining the bar, glass tinkling and Lucy's own drink nearly spilling. It gains them several looks from the other patrons, but Lucy ignores them, leaning in close to Gunner to hiss in his ear, "You put your hand on me again and I'll take it." The threat is clear in her voice, her nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave little pinpricks of blood.

Again, she turns away from him, jaw clenched tightly. Her arm aches furiously, and her fingers twitch at the pain shooting up her arm. She hopes the man will just leave her alone, but he doesn't seem to be getting the message.

"You are a fiery one," he muses, reaching out to brush her hair away from her face, pausing halfway when Lucy bares her teeth at him. He seems to think better of it, dropping his hand back onto the bar.

Lucy eyes him with distaste, knowing he's not just some sleaze looking for a girl for the night. No, he's a slave trader, she can practically smell it on him with the way he's eyeing her, as if he's already put a price on her. It makes her sick. "And you're a trafficker," she responds blankly, expression neutral, but shoulders tense. She's safe so long as she's indoors. He wouldn't dare try anything here, not in the inner circle and not with so many witnesses. Besides, Lucy thinks she could take him.

He has no weapons, likely thinking she's one to simply be overpowered. If that's the case, he's sorely mistaken.

Gunner hums, leaning an elbow against the bar and staring her down. "Smart girl," he murmurs, ignorant to the look Lucy shares with the pub owner over his head, the older man raising a brow at the slave trader and Lucy calmly shaking her head. She can handle it. "I knew there was something I liked about you," Gunner tells her, sending her a winning smile.

She returns the smile, hers painfully fake. "I'm sure you did," she hisses back. Yeah, he probably liked her for how much he assumed she would sell for. Lucy fights to keep her wind under control, knowing things will be worse if he recognizes her as Faeborne.

Sweat beads against her forehead and neck, Lucy's vision growing blurry for a moment as she sways on her seat. Something's wrong, she knows, very wrong. For a moment she thinks she might have been drugged, but she knows that isn't right. The darkness under her skin pulses madly, Lucy feeling like she's just been stabbed viciously in the shoulder, as if her skin's being peeled back slowly. It's excruciating and she has to swallow down a whine, not wanting the trafficker to know something's wrong with her.

"So where's your Berserker friend?" She barely hears the question, her thoughts growing foggy, but Lucy squeezes her eyes shut tightly for a moment, and when she opens them again her vision clears.

For a moment, she considers not answering, but talking seems to be the only thing keeping her awake right now, like if she stops she might succumb to whatever's pulling at her mind, trying to drag her into a deep sleep. Her limbs feel heavy suddenly, Lucy slumping forward in her seat, though not quite doubling over. "I'm not his keeper," she spits, anger numbing the pain.

A hand slides along the length of her leg, tickling at the bare skin of her thigh, so light she almost doesn't notice. Lucy does, however, and the touch makes her freeze, her lips curving back in a snarl that she thinks she might have picked up from Natsu. "Well," Gunner practically purrs at her, squeezing her smooth skin roughly, "maybe he should be yours."

Shifting her legs, Lucy knocks his hand off her thigh, digging her nails into the back of his hand. This is his third warning at the very least. If he touches her again she will remove his hand from his body. "I have no keeper." With her pounding head, irritable arm, and boiling rage Lucy thinks she's very well on her way to exploding.

"I can change that," he breathes in her ear, leaning in so close that his short beard scratches at her skin, Lucy blanching at the feeling. His breath is hot against his neck and Lucy squirms at the unpleasant feeling, but it only seems to encourage him, Gunner thinking it's a pleased shiver coming from her.

Her head snaps around, forehead nearly cracking against his as Lucy snarls at him. "And I said _no_ ," she reminds him, raising her voice to gain the attention of several people nearby. Satisfied with the amount of people looking at them, Lucy starts to relax, calmer now that she's caught the attention of others.

Gunner snarls at her, but backs away several inches, putting some space between them. "Look, Sweetheart," he hisses at her, low and threatening. He's sure to keep his voice down this time, mindful of the eyes on his back. "I've got three of my guys in here," Gunner tells her, wetting his lips in anticipation. "You can come willingly, or I can take you anyway."

"Try it," Lucy dares him, responding with a challenging look. She hears the front door open, then slam shut loudly, the bang echoing through the room. There are several hushed whispers, the occupants of the tavern tittering nervously, but doesn't bother to look, frosty gaze locked on the man harassing her. "Your funeral," she tells him, shrugging as her lips twist up, smile sharp as a knife.

He considers this for a moment, eyes hardening and expression turner meaner than anything she's ever seen. "You know," he spits at her, eyes narrowing dangerously, "Most men don't like women who talk back." He chews his bottom lip for a moment, then his hand shoots out and curls around her thigh once more, squeezing her flesh so hard Lucy's sure to bruise from the force of it. She gasps, surprised, and he leans in until his lips are pressed to her ear. "I'm sure someone would _love_ to beat that out of you." She feels something warm and wet slide along her skin and flinches.

Lucy takes a slow, shaky breath. "Most women don't like men who accost them in the streets and threaten them," she counters, hand slipping down to cover his. He gives her leg another squeeze and Lucy doesn't hesitate as she curls her hand around his fingers and snaps them back. She hears at least one break, Gunner reeling back with a yelp. "We can't all get what we want," Lucy tells him, smiling.

Gunner suddenly stands, not fast enough to knock his stool back, but not slow enough to seem natural. Lucy suddenly hears footsteps coming towards them and stiffens, assuming he's given his lackeys the signal to surround her. They're trying to scare her into submission, but it won't work. Lucy refuses to be antagonized like this, but not by these men.

Lucy is suddenly pulled from her chair, stumbling as she drops several inches to the ground with a yelp. She recoils from him, but Gunner slips an arm around her back, pulling her forward until she's pressed flush against him much like she was the night before.

"You shouldn't have come here alone, Little Girl," he sneers, fingers twisting around the ends of Lucy's blonde hair, Gunner tugging lightly. His other hand settles on her waist, mindful of his broken finger. His grip on her turns brutal, and Lucy knows she'll have bruises peppering her skin later in the day, already feeling them blooming beneath her skin.

The sudden shift in balance makes her head swim, Lucy wincing as her head throbs as if she's been struck. Her arm echoes the pulse, her fingers twitching violently. A low whine pulls from her throat, but Lucy ignores it, other hand slipping to the back of her shorts, Lucy silently cursing herself for leaving her knives in their room, figuring she wouldn't need them if she was just down the street.

There's a threatening growl from off to her right. "Who said she was alone?" a gruff, dangerously low voice spits at Gunner. Lucy's head snaps up, eyes locking with Natsu's. She relaxes slightly, glad she's not alone anymore, and Natsu's eyes slide down her torso, checking for injuries. He sends her an apologetic look, but she waves him off, letting him know she's fine. A bit rattled, but fine.

"You're late," she tells him, eyes narrowing as she stares at him. She's been waiting around for damn near a half-hour. She's only teasing, of course, and he seems to realize it, quirking a brow at her as he steps in closer, towering over both her and Gunner, but not reaching out to help her. He's eyeing the other man, gritting his teeth, but they both know she can take care of herself.

Natsu snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. Lucy feels Gunner's arms slip from around her, though the man doesn't leave her personal space, still hovering close enough for Lucy to feel him against her front. "Actually," Natsu corrects, mischief in his eyes, "you're just early." His gaze trails down to Lucy's hand hovering between her torso and Gunner's and she sees him give the smallest of nods, pride in his eyes.

Gunner sneers somewhere above her head, but Lucy only has eyes for Natsu, her lips twisting into a smile his sharp gaze cuts to the trafficker, expression darker than she's ever seen it. "Aww," Gunner coos, sickly-sweet and sarcastic. "Does she need someone to fight her battles for her?" he asks, reaching out slowly and curling a strand of Lucy's golden hair around his finger.

"No," Natsu tells him gently, shaking his head and sending the other a look that's all poison. "I'm just here to watch." Gunner's expression twists into one of confusion and Natsu grins, baring his teeth at the stranger hovering over her. "Look down," Natsu says to Gunner, his green eyes looking pointedly below the man's belt, Natsu dipping his chin slightly.

Confused, the man looks down, head tilting slowly as he looks between his body and Lucy's. Gunner stiffens immediately, suddenly all too aware of the thin, knife pressed dangerously close to his crotch, sharp point aimed to stab upwards at any moment. His breath catches, eyes snapping up to lock with Lucy's for a moment. She merely bats her eyelashes at him, smile dripping with venom. Swallowing thickly Gunner glances back between them, releasing her and backing away slowly when Lucy shifts her arm, muscles tense and ready to strike.

He sneers at her as he backs away. "Don't start something you can't finish," Lucy tells him gently. He spits at her feet, glaring between her and Natsu, who's slid up behind her, not touching her, but close enough for Lucy to feel the heat from his skin against her back.

Gunner doesn't look back as he stalks away.

Lucy hears Natsu laugh behind her and turns around slowly, hiding a wince when she feels pain shoot up her arm and her head, the feeling making her grit her teeth and bite back a sob. Natsu is smiling when she looks at him, his eyes bright as he looks down at her, something fond in his gaze. "You're brilliant," he tells her, reaching out slowly to rest his hands on her shoulders, skin warm against hers, "you know that?"

As soon as he touches her the pain in her arm intensifies, Lucy gasping slightly. "I think you've mentioned it once or twice," she tells him, swaying slightly on her feet as a wave of nausea floods through her. She suddenly feels like her arm is trying to pull itself apart, skin ripping itself into thin strips, fire boiling at her blood. Lucy hisses through her teeth, doubling over and clutching her arms to her chest. She suddenly feels like she can't breathe, black spots dotting her vision.

Natsu grip on her tightens, his expression twisting into one of concern when he sees her eyes grow glossy, a pained expression flickering across her face. "Lucy," he murmurs, arm wrapping around her more securely, his grip warm and tight and Lucy sinks into him. Everything is foggy, his voice far away when he murmurs her name. "Lucy? Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to answer, tries to tell him that something is very wrong with her arm, but the words won't come out and suddenly it's like there's a fist wrapped around her neck and squeezing. Something inside her snaps, Lucy's ears ringing and her vision blurs. A choked sound leaves her and then everything goes dark.

Lucy drops.

* * *

 **AN: I really wish I'd had the foresight to save my ANs from the first time around, because that would have been useful, but alas here we are. I really should just saving them ON the document. I'll start doing that when I'm caught up on edits lmao. Thanks for baring with me for the last few months guys! Most of the edits were at the beginning, so from here out I'm not actually making too many changes! Hurray!**


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/22/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Twenty Nine**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

He never should have left her alone. Maybe if he was there with her this morning nothing would have happened. He shouldn't have left her, not in a city like Narja, but he thought she would be fine. Lucy is strong—stronger than most people he's met, and he grew up surrounded by turned into beasts, people who could tear others apart. She can handle herself in most situations, and she doesn't need his hovering over her, she can protect herself— _fuck_ , she was _fine_ when he showed up at the tavern. A bit paler than usual, but she was fine. Natsu doesn't know if that bastard did something to her or if she's simply exhausted herself, but watching her eyes roll back—watching her just _collapse_ like that—it scared the shit out of him.

The only times he can remember being more terrified than that moment, were the first day he was forced into the rings and the time the king can for them in Fiore. He could breathe then, and watching Lucy crumple to the ground tore at something in his chest, his head roaring with panic.

Natsu caught her before she could hit the floor, but couldn't do anything for a long moment, could barely _breathe_ , let alone try to help her. Fumbling to find her pulse was several of the worst seconds in his life, Natsu clumsy as he prodded at her neck with trembling fingers. Maybe that moment wasn't as bloody as some of his memories, but he knows his shaking hands and Lucy's blank expression will always be in the back of his mind, her pulse so faint he couldn't hear it any longer, the sound drowned out by his own pounding heartbeat, the muscle crawling into his throat.

Shaking his head slowly, Natsu feels his stomach churn violently, acid winding through his throat. He swallows it back, focusing on Lucy's face as he hovers over her, on the slow rise and fall of her chest. She's alive, he keeps reminding himself. She collapsed, but she's alive. For one horrifying moment he thought he lost her, Lucy so still in his arms, his too large fingers groping awkwardly for a pulse, trembling so badly that he couldn't feel anything. It was only when he felt her warm breath against his throat, barely a ghost of a touch, that he was able to relax even the slightest bit.

He thought he'd lost her forever, unable to find her pulse, her heartbeat weak. It was the ghost of her breath that kept him from snapping, Natsu's panic wound tight. Something inside him was trying to claw its way out, his rage and fear blinding him.

And then she took a breath, and Natsu felt like he could, too.

Exhaling softly, shakily, Natsu presses his palm to Lucy's cheek, thumb brushing against her clammy skin gently. He moves a sweaty strand of hair away from her skin, whining lowly when Lucy shivers violently against his touch, twitching like it hurts her. Teeth caught between his lip, Natsu swallows thickly, throat dry and tongue heavy in his mouth. Natsu presses the back of his hand against her forehead and winces, Lucy's skin burning against his touch. She's always been cold to him, most people are, and he knows she's burning up with a fever, a very bad one, if he had to guess.

He worries his lip, stroking her too pale skin gently and wishing he could do something. She was fine this morning, tired, but fine. She smiled at him and was acting the same as normal, he never would have guessed that anything was wrong. Natsu should have been paying more attention though, he should have known that something was wrong. Now, sitting beside her, he can smell the sickness all over her, sickly sweet like rotten fruit and old bones.

If he hadn't left her to go traipsing through the city to find someone who could fix broken things, maybe he would've been able to help her sooner, maybe he would have noticed something was wrong. Maybe she would be okay right now, awake and smiling at him like she always is.

Natsu should have paid more attention, should have known better.

His thumb rubs along her cheek, Lucy giving a shuddery exhale in her sleep and leaning into his touch. Natsu purses his lips, stilling when her expression twists into one of pain, her breath hiccupping slightly, a hitch in the steady pattern. It makes his chest squeeze painfully, worry clawing at his throat, more violent than anything he's ever known.

A growl rips from deep in his chest, Natsu wanting nothing more than to hunt down the bastard that he found harassing her earlier, demand he tell him what he did to Lucy, but he can't leave her. Even if he wants to, he knows he can't leave her, not now. He would hate himself if he left and something happened to her. As much as his anger is clawing its way out of his chest, begging to be let out, Natsu just keeps shoving it down, because he's not leaving her side, not right now.

Natsu glances up slowly, looking at the old woman on Lucy's other side, her expression pinched as she looks down a Lucy, poking and prodding at places, trying to find the problem. Her eyes briefly flicker up to meet his, dark and deep, the only color in her washed out face. She looks like the life has been sucked from her, hair stark white and face boney and pale, more so than anyone Natsu's ever seen.

She'd called herself Magi when she let him in, Natsu banging on her door. and pleading for help. Magi took one look at Lucy in his arms and yanked him into her home, door slamming shut behind him violently, the old woman cursing as she dragged him into the back of her shop, shouting for someone to clear the bed.

Magi looks away from him now, turning to lean in closer to Lucy, mumbling something he doesn't catch as she smoothes back Lucy's hair, pale fingers trailing down Lucy's neck to feel for her pulse.

Behind her, Magi's assistant Katya peers nervously down at Lucy, the girl slight and no older than fifteen, with dark everything skin and eyes, her hair hanging down her back in thick, braided ropes. She leans in, pressing her hand against Lucy's knee, frowning when the unconscious girl jerks, face twisting in agony.

Katya murmurs something Natsu doesn't understand, patting Lucy's knee gently before beginning to hum, something soft and unfamiliar. It seems to soothe Lucy, her breathing becoming steadier and her expression losing some of its tension, her pinched brow smoothing.

Squeezing Lucy's fingers, Natsu sends Katya a small, shaky smile. It feels heavy on his lips and he knows it doesn't reach his eyes, but she smiles back anyway, giving a little nod as she continues to hum under her breath, Magi seemingly ignorant to the exchange.

Natsu's fingers slip down the side of her neck, ghosting across her collarbone and settling over her faint heartbeat, wincing when he feels how slow it's gotten since he last checked.

 _He was running, though he didn't know where, the streets unfamiliar to him as he tried to remember the address the tavern owner gave him, telling him to find a woman named Magi, telling him she could help, telling him she could keep Lucy alive if he found her in time. But it had been what felt like hours and he still hadn't found the woman's home, her shop nowhere to be found. They called her a bone witch, said she could heal anything from broken bones to bloody limbs._

 _Foot pounding against the wet ground, Natsu ignored the rain stinging his eyes, curling Lucy tighter against his chest, his jacket wound tight around her, blocking out the sudden chill of the city. Something cold swept through Narja when he stepped outside, a freezing wind that rattled him straight to his core. Natsu shivered, but pressed on, thoughts not linger long on the chill he shouldn't have felt, his skin too hot to register most winds._

 _Lucy's breath was warm against his collarbone, constant but light, a rasping sound rattling her lungs every time she inhaled. She was alive though, and that was all that mattered to him. As long as she was still breathing, Natsu knew that he could keep himself in control. He needed to get her help and he couldn't do that if he panicked._

 _Natsu absolutely refused to let her die simply because of his nerves. He swore to protect her, to get her home, and he damn well intended to keep it. Natsu had to find Magi's home, he just had to._

 _Turning a slick corner, Natsu nearly slipped, his shoulder bashing painfully against the side of a building, though he ignored it in favor of cradling Lucy closer, worried that he could have hurt her. She felt so still in his arms, arm limp around the back of his neck and legs hanging over his arm, almost like she was already gone._

 _He shook the thought away, shoving it somewhere into a deep corner of his mind, not wanting to entertain the thought. Lucy would be okay. She had to be okay. He promised she would be okay and he didn't intend on going back on his word. Natsu never had been a liar and he refused to start then, not to Lucy. He would lie, not to her._

 _Ignoring his thoughts, Natsu listened to the wet slapping of his boots on the cobblestones, mumbling nonsense under his breath as he wound through the streets, trying to get Lucy to wake up. He murmured her name, lips pressed tightly against her sweaty hair, but she didn't respond, too far gone to understand what he was saying._

 _Natsu turned another corner, pulling his lip between his teeth and worrying it as his eyes flickered around the streets. He caught sight of a large sign, a building dimly lit, but still open despite the unexpected storm. The creature on the sign, some kind of bird matched the hurried description from the tavern owner, something big and blue. He ignored the sign, disregarding what was on it as he stumbled up to the building, curling Lucy closer to his chest and trying to block out the cold, not wanting her to get sicker._

 _Her forehead was hot against his collarbone, her skin sweat-slicked and clammy, Lucy shivering despite the heat rolling off of her in waves. His throat felt tight as he waited, fist banging against the door rougher than intended. He didn't mean to be so violent with his actions, but panic was welling in his chest, his heart squeezing and lungs devoid of air, like he was suffocating._

 _Natsu would take that over watching Lucy collapse, unmoving in his arms._

 _He shivered and suddenly the door slammed open, banging roughly against the wall and nearly catching Natsu as well, the Berserk barely having time to step back as the door rushed by. It clipped his elbow, a dull ache flaring in his arm, but he barely felt it, looking at the new face with wide eyes._

 _Deep blue eyes stared back at him, the woman's face wrinkled with age but also irritation as she stared at Natsu, thin-lipped and annoyed, a thin brow raised curious as she stared back at him, not saying a word as she waited for him to either speak or leave._

 _Unsure what to do, he simply stared for a long moment, swallowing thickly as he met the woman's gaze. His grip tightened around Lucy and she shifted slightly, curling into his, lips ghosting his collarbone, Natsu hyper aware of every move she made. It distracted him for a moment, Natsu's mouth going dry. He was unable to do anything but stare for several seconds._

 _Fed up with his lack of response, the woman turned around, huffing and eyes rolling. She grabbed the door as she turned, grumbling under her breath about the waste of time, and started to slam it shut._

 _Not thinking, Natsu's hand shot out, fingers curling around the edge of the door forcefully and shoving it back open, wincing slightly as he heard it slam back against the wall once more. His eyes widened slightly and the old woman whirled around, looking ready to snap at him._

" _Help her," he murmured, the old woman pausing as she stared at Natsu. He swallowed, shifting Lucy in his arms, and the woman's head snapped around, eyes immediately jumping towards Lucy's still, sickly frame. She looked back at Natsu, mouth dropped open slightly in shock. He swallowed again, raising one hand to Lucy's cheek and wiping the rainwater away, hand trembling against her. "Please," he murmured, desperation clear in his voice. "Help her."_

 _The woman gave a stiff nod, ushering him in quickly and grabbing at his arm, dragging her into the house._

 _The door shut behind him with a bang._

Magi suddenly hisses, Natsu flinching at the sound, his head snapping up as he stares at the woman once more, wincing when he sees the frustration growing on her face. She doesn't know what's wrong, Natsu knows it and the thought terrifies him. If the best healer in the city can't help her, than what's going to happen to Lucy? It's not something he wants to consider, but it's a plague in his thoughts.

His eyes sting with the realization that she could very well die tonight, gone out like a flame, silent and leaving only wisps of smoke in her wake. He wouldn't be able to bring her home if she didn't wake up. Natsu knows she's from Fiore, close to the Bosco border, but he doesn't know where. He wouldn't be able to bring her home.

Snarling at his thoughts, Natsu banishes them from his mind, hating himself for even considering Lucy not waking up. She's stronger than that, she wouldn't give up without fighting, and Natsu will be damned before he dares give up on her. She wouldn't give up on him. Not ever.

Magi's eyes burn into his, her lips pressed into a thin line as she presses a cool cloth to Lucy's forehead, Katya disappearing from Lucy's side to fetch a bucket of water, hauling it over to them despite how heavy it must be. He considers offering to help, but the words won't come out and he feels rooted in place, utterly grounded at Lucy's side. He knows he won't be moving, not until he sees her open her eyes again.

"Is she hurt anywhere?" Magi suddenly asks him, pressing her hand against Lucy's lower chest and stomach, feeling for anything that could be causing the girl pain. She seems to find nothing, her confusion and irritation growing as she continues to check Lucy for even the slightest of injuries, hands careful and gentle as she feels around.

Natsu wets his lips, shaking his head slowly as his fingers trail back to her thin neck, thumb brushing against the fading bruises still staining her skin. They've lessened in color, more green and yellow than purple, and he feels slightly relieved to see them disappearing so quickly, knowing they weren't nearly as bad as when he hurt her. It both relieves and sickens him, but he's simply glad to know they're disappearing so quickly.

He catches sight of Magi's imploring look, the woman urging him to speak. "No," he finally chokes out, fingers stroking the length of her neck, his eyes locked on Lucy's skin beneath his. "Just her neck." He jerks his chin down towards Lucy's throat, gesturing to the faint bruising. "We ran into trouble and—" He cuts off with a shiver, shaking his head roughly. "She could have died," he finally chokes out.

Magi nods slowly, understanding. Her eyes soften slightly, though only for a moment before she's staring up at him sternly. "Are you sure there's nothing else?" she presses, urging him to tell her anything he might know. He wants to help, but he honestly doesn't know anything. Most of her wounds so far have been superficial, bruising and maybe a fracture, but nothing broken.

"Her ribs," he tells Magi, "were bothering her but…" But he knows they aren't broken. Lucy would have been in much more pain if that happened. He's seen punctured lungs before and knows that isn't what's wrong with Lucy. Her breathing has been smooth since they were attacked, her discomfort leaving her within days of their fight. Broken ribs would have hurt for much longer than that. No, he thinks something far worse has happened to her now.

Her question from days ago suddenly slams into him full force, his breath ripped from his lungs. "What happens when a Berserk bites someone?" Natsu's eyes widen in horror, his gaze snapping to her arm, the one with the bandages wound around it since they practically first met. He hadn't thought much of them, not seeing them wet with blood even once, though the area seemed tender at times. As far as he knew there was nothing wrong, nothing that he could see.

Horror claws at his throat, a series of whimpered "no" 's spilling passed his lips as he stares down at Lucy. He didn't—she would have told him if she—

He shakes his head, hands trembling as his fingers slide along her skin, palm settling against the sliver of bare skin revealed on her left arm. Suddenly, he remembers the taste of her blood on his tongue, the way it clung to his senses, thick and fresh. He thought it was just the bloodlust eating at his mind, he never thought he'd actually _bit_ her.

Magi notices his twisting expression, her face curious as she looks at him. "What?" she asks him, leaning in slightly to get a better look at his expression, eyes narrowing when she sees the fear in his eyes. "Do you know something?" The question hangs heavy between them, Natsu wincing. It isn't an accusation, but it might as well be.

"Her arm," he murmurs back, eyes squeezing shut for only a moment before he growls low in his chest and raises both of his hands to the arm closest to him, practically ripping off her long glove and tossing it to the floor behind him. The fabric slips from his fingers, soft and worn from use, and Natsu trembles, teeth bared in a snarl, praying that he's wrong, that it's only his imagination.

Lucy is a curious person, he knows, it could have been a simple question. She just wanted to know, about him, about Berserks. He asked about the Fae as well, wanting to know who she was, what she could do. There's nothing wrong with that, with wanting to know. She wouldn't keep something like that from him.

His hands shake as he slowly unwinds the bandage from her arm, starting from her wrist and working his way up, not daring to start any higher. It comes of slowly, Magi and Katya hovering on Lucy's other side as Natsu gently unwinds her arm, keeping his eyes focused on the bandage, not wanting to see what's underneath, not yet. He hears a horrified gasp come from Katya, the girl slapping a hand over her mouth, expression twisting sickly. Even Magi blanches, face paling further, if that's even possible. Natsu doesn't look, heart squeezing in his chest as he hears the women mutter to each other.

He continues to unwrap her arm for a long time, her skin bound in two layers of the bandages, as if she was worried about them bleeding through, or if she knew he could smell it. Now that he's so close the scent hits him fully. Her arm smells like decay, something poisonous and sickly, something that's already begun to rot. It coats his senses, thick on his tongue until he can _taste it_. He doesn't know how he didn't notice it before, how he could have just passed it off as nothing when it was so strong all this time. He shudders at the thought of growing used to something like this, at becoming so desensitized to the smell that it simply slipped his mind, becoming normal to him.

Nothing about this should be normal.

Natsu releases a quivering breath as the coil of bandages slips from his fingers, hands trembling at his sides when he sees the mess that her arm has become. Bile rises high in his throat, Natsu feeling absolutely sick to his stomach as he stares down at her discolored skin. He chokes it back, horror in his eyes as he stares down at her, gaze locked on the dark, inky stains beneath her skin, veins black as night against her paler skin tone. They creep along her arm, thin and dark like spider webs.

A strangled sound slips from him, Natsu whining as his eyes follow the dark veins from the back of her left hand where they end, the lines winding up her flesh all the way to the top of her arm, centralized around a horrible black and purple bruise staining her skin. It's the size of his fist and looks painful to the touch, grotesque. His fingers trail along her arm, the veins under her skin pulsing angrily as he touches her, almost reacting to the contact, moving under her skin sickly.

His hand moves higher, to the bruised part of her arm, and his thumb catches on a small, raised sliver of skin. Natsu leans in closer, brow furrowing and eyes narrowing. His breath ghosts her flesh when he bends down to get a better look, and Natsu can feel the heat coming from her arm, so hot it practically burns. She's warmer than she should be, hot enough for him to feel his skin tingle, something that's never happened before. Again, he strokes the raised flesh, peering closer to make out what it is.

There are four small scars on her arm, nothing more than puckered dots against her skin, so small no one would ever notice them unless they were looking for them. They're from his teeth, he realizes, flinching away from her. They're from his fangs burying so deep in her flesh that he tore through skin and muscle, all the way to the bone, ripping through her tissue without a thought. He was absolutely mindless in his attack on her, tearing through her skin so easily. He can't imagine how much it must have hurt her.

Suddenly, he remembers the Berserk he fought in Pergrande, the way he laughed and asked Natsu if she screamed, if she begged him to stop.

A low whine tears from his lips, Natsu exhaling shakily as he looks down at her, taking in her still form with wide eyes. Her arm is an absolute mess, her fingers twitching at an irregular pace, almost violent in their movements. Lucy sucks in a shuddery, raspy breath and Natsu manages to peel his eyes away from her arm for just a moment, looking between her pained expression and the horror in Magi and Katya's eyes.

Natsu strokes the scars on her arm with his thumb and his skin comes away stained black, the wounds oozing. It isn't blood, but something thicker, something that clings to the skin, sticky. He grimaces in disgust, but doesn't pull away, not wanting to leave her side.

"Oh, Lucy, what did you do?" he murmurs to her unconscious form, softly stroking her injured arm, wishing he knew what to do to make the pain go away. He brushes her bangs away from her eyes with his free hand, letting his fingers trailing along her jaw before pulling away and slipping his fingers through hers, letting their hands entwine slowly.

He wishes she had told him, if only because he could have tried to do something—anything. He would have tried anything to make the hurting stop, because he knows that her arm must have been hurting her this entire time, from the very moment they met. And he never knew.

Across from him, Magi takes a slow breath, tired hand rubbing at the side of her face. She looks absolutely stricken, something like an apology in her eyes, and Natsu feels a growl build in his throat, close to snapping should the woman say there's nothing she could do. "Do you know what happened?" she asks instead, waving away Katya and telling her assistant to retrieve something Natsu doesn't understand.

"I bit her," he replies, voice thick, terror winding through him. He thought his nightmares were bad, thought his memories of Igneel hurt him more than anything else, but somehow this feels worse. With Igneel, he knows deep inside himself that it wasn't his fault. There was nothing he could have done to save his father. But this? He has no one but himself to blame for this—for Lucy lying so still, more fragile than he's ever seen her.

He'll do anything he can to fix this.

Magi's expression twists in confusion as her eyes flicker between him and Lucy. "What do you mean you _bit_ her?" she asks slowly, eyes narrowing. Natsu looks away first, ashamed, and Magi only stares harder. After a long moment realization seems to hit, Magi leaning back slightly. "You're one of Pergrande's soldiers." It isn't a question or an accusation, simply a fact.

Natsu shakes his head slowly. "Not anymore," he whispers, squeezing Lucy's fingers with his, looking at her face instead of the awful marks on her arm. "He—the King sent me to kill her," he murmurs, staring down at her sadly, "and I must have—she didn't—she didn't _tell me_ ," he manages to choke out, feeling his eyes begin to sting, vision blurring as his eyes grow glossy.

Her fingers tap against the bedpost slowly, gaze locked on Lucy's mangled arm, expression vaguely sick as she stares. She ignores Katya at her side, hands stilling suddenly as she considers what he's said, lips pressing into a thin line. "You didn't know," Magi repeats, more to herself than him, but Natsu feels a reply bubble in his throat regardless, his head already shaking.

"No," he whispers back, voice thick with emotion. He swallows back the lump in his throat, not wanting to break. "No," Natsu repeats, shaking his head slowly. His bangs fall into his eyes, but he doesn't shove them back, refusing to pull away from her. "I was wearing a collar, I didn't—I didn't know what I was doing." He didn't know.

Magi considers this, her eyes widening slightly. "Fae magic," she spits, a frustrated hiss spilling passed her lips. Her hands tighten into fists, blue eyes going icy, turning a shade lighter than they were before. She's Faeborne, Natsu realizes belatedly, eyes widening slightly.

"Is it an infection?" Katya suddenly asks, skirting around the bed to stand beside Natsu. She peers down at Lucy sadly, reaching out to place her hand on the Lucy's, the one curled through his, but she hesitates for a moment, eyeing him. Realizing he isn't about to bite, she places her hand over both of theirs, thumb brushing over the back of Lucy's hand for only a moment.

Magi glances up at her apprentice quickly, blinking at the girl. "Of sorts," she replies simply, turning around and crossing the room, heading to a small table in the corner and picking up a handful of towels and an empty bucket. She slips something into her apron that Natsu can't see.

Katya frowns. "What does that mean?"

"It's a magical infection," Magi tells the two of them, waving off their confusion as she hobbles back over to them, right leg stiff beneath her. She winces, rubbing at the limb, but doesn't pause as she hurries back to Lucy's side, though skirting the table to nudge Natsu out of the way, peering closer at Lucy's am. "Dark energy entered this girl's arm." Natsu inhales sharply, realizing what happened.

His lips curve back over his teeth. "Dark magic," he spits, a threatening snarl rising in his chest. The Fae magic from the collar, somehow when he bit her it must have transferred to her, like some sick kind of disease. He shakes his head, eyes snapping up to look at Magi, expression sharp, eyes burning. "Can you help her?" it comes out rougher than he means it do, partially demanding, but he can't find it in him to care. She looks uncertain and he sighs. "Can you help her?" he repeats through gritted teeth. "Please."

The desperation in his voice makes her pause.

She swallows, chewing her lower lip for a long moment. "It's spread quite a ways," she reminds him, gesturing towards the dark veins on Lucy's arm, sending Natsu a pointed look. She looks like she wants to tell him she can't help, that it's too late, but he refuses to just give up on her like that, not when she still has some fight in her.

"That isn't what I asked," he replies, trying not to snarl.

Magi sends him a stern look, eyes narrowing in anger at his attitude. Katya stiffens, smoothing her asymmetrical skirt and winding the longer end around her finger nervously. "I can try," Magi finally decides, looking down at Lucy. Her expression softens, eyes almost sad as she stares down at her. Magi traces a finger down Lucy's cheek. "But I can't promise anything," she reminds him. "And it'll be messy."

Natsu nods. "Just tell me what to do," he replies seriously.

Her eyes lock with his. "I want you to hold her down." Magi pulls a knife from her apron and cuts a neat line across Lucy's upper arm.

Lucy screams.

* * *

 **AN: Okay, I'm almost done with edits. I should be done editing arc one by Friday, and Arc two midway next week, so expect a new chapter on June 2! It's been a long time coming, but I really did need a break from this fic for a while. Thanks for your patience!**


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/22/18 Minor changes, primarily in regards to the mythos early in the chapter.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Thirty**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

She's surrounded by a haze: thick and dark, shadows swimming in and out of focus, disappearing whenever she tries to look closer, slipping just out of sight. They taunt her, twisting around her, voices low and indistinguishable, whispers hissing in her ears, angry and harsh, a sense of urgency to the calls. Something moves from the corner of her eye, but when she turns to look, there's nothing there, only a stretch of darkness that seems to be swallowing everything. Cold and cruel, it slinks across the ground, silent as death.

There's something violent in the air, something that rest thick on her tongue, bittersweet. The smell curls through her lungs, choking her, and Lucy feels her mind growing foggy. Her head lolls to the side and she sinks to the ground, looking around blearily, confused by the unfamiliar surroundings—the nothingness around her.

Lucy sucks in a shaky breath, mouth growing dry. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth, almost swollen, and her eyes itch. At her sides, her hands twitch, fingers curling and jerking, pulled by invisible strings. Her left arm burns worse than it ever has before. It feels stiff at her side, limp, and she can feel it pulse with every beat of her heart, thrumming loudly until it begins to drown out the whispers around her until all she can hear is her own rapid pulse. Her heart beats too fast, stuttering slightly, and panic wells in her chest.

She doesn't know where she is or how she got here. She remembers her head pounding and the smile slipping from Natsu's face, his brow creasing with worry. She remembers excruciating pain, like nothing she's ever felt before. Lucy remembers thinking she was going to die, that she was never going to go home. And then nothing.

All alone in the darkness is where she finds herself, a shiver wracking her body. She's never been afraid of the dark, not really. There was never anything to be afraid of, with the stars watching over her at night. Velsigna av Strakaz. That's what Natsu called her. Blessed by stars. He told her little of the legend, about how Estra, daughter of Djerda, pulled the stars from the sky and gave them life, proving her devotion to Ieyar, a chaos god, and creating the Fae, their magic gifted to them by Ieyar.

It's a story she'd like to believe. The stars have always given her a sense of life, of purpose. They've always comforted her when she needed them, a constant, never drifting from her side when they mattered most, not like people do. She's always been grateful for them, especially since her mother's death, and she wonders if the stars really were looking over her.

But they're gone now, too far away for Lucy to see, almost as if they were never there to begin with. They're gone and for the first time in her life, Lucy is truly alone. It terrifies her, the darkness and the shadows slinking closer, more alive than she'd have thought possible.

It feels almost alive, but not quite. It isn't sentient, but it calls to her, urging her to follow. Her arm gives a sore ache in response, and something slithers into her thoughts, her feet moving before she can stop them. Lucy catches herself just before stepping into the thick, foggy darkness around her, stopping just a breath away. The air feels like ice, her skin prickling, and when she exhales she can see her breath disappear into the shadows, little wisps consumed by darkness.

Lucy takes a step back, the chill slipping away, and she shivers at the feeling of an icy finger trailing along her spine, solid and more real than anything she's ever felt. Whipping around, her gaze flickers around the emptiness surrounding her, searching for anything that may have touched her, but finds nothing. She shivers again, but not because of the cold.

Her eyes search wildly, but there's nothing, just her and the darkness.

For a long moment she wonders where Natsu is, trusting him not to abandon her, not to the shadows and the monsters that prowl within. He wouldn't just leave her like that, she knows he wouldn't. Maybe it's foolish to place so much trust in someone she's known for such a short amount of time, but if she can't trust Natsu at this point, who can she trust? No one else has stayed by her side through so much in such a short period of time.

Something pulls at her mind then, and her vision blurs as she crumples to the ground, legs giving out beneath her. Lucy hits the ground hard, legs heavy beneath her, and she can't seem to find the strength to stand, not with her thoughts so thick and jumbled, tangled together.

The pain in her arm increases, and she gropes at her left arm, nails digging into her skin without her realizing it. She draws blood, it dripping down her arm and slipping from her fingers, pooling by her knees, though she doesn't notice. Her head throbs and her arm echoes the pulse, something burning hot flooding her veins, like fire is being forced beneath her flesh. Slowly, her skin begins to peel, splitting open and leaking blood and puss. The skin gives way to muscle and bone, ivory stark against the blood splattering across the floor around her.

The darkness edges closer and closer, moving in while she's not looking, her eyes squeezed shut tightly. Her teeth dig into her lower lip, but Lucy doesn't care. Tears bead in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks slowly as she curls in on herself, a whimper escaping her as something sharp splits through her skull, knife twisting tearing at her insides until it's simply too much. Her arm tingles and when Lucy looks down she sees black veins, dark lines covering her skin nearly entirely, her flesh consumed by something greedy and wicked, something that hungers for control.

With a jolt, Lucy's eyes snap open, her head throbbing, mouth dry, and her arm still on fire. The voices around her grow clearer, though they're unfamiliar, an edge of worry to the words, but nothing distinguishable, nothing worth remembering. She doesn't recognize the people speaking, doesn't think she cares, so long as they can make the pain go away.

It hurts to think—hurts to _breathe_ , and whenever her fingers twitch it sends a sharp jolt through her entire being, like she's burning from the inside out, smoke filling her lungs and hr flesh charring on her bones, reducing her to nothing.

She's vaguely aware of someone calling her name, but the fog around her is too thick for her to follow the sound. Her ears begin to ring, swallowing everything else around her, and Lucy whimpers, eyes squeezing shut for only a moment before snapping open wide, too afraid of the darkness to keep them closed.

Her lungs rattle with the breath she takes, a low whine pulling from her, sound swallowed by the movement around her.

It takes her a moment to realize that she's no longer surrounded by the darkness, but pale light that flickers gently, almost pulsing above her. Lucy squints, trying to peer through the light, but to no avail. It's too harsh, she realizes quickly, to thick and too bright, her sense of sight muffled.

Again, something moves in the corner of her vision, Lucy's head slipping to the side to see what it is, curious despite her murky thoughts. It's human in shape, tall and looming over her, almost protective in its stance. She hears a low growl sound from above her, the rumble slipping through her ringing ears and gaining her rapt attention.

The words have no form, but they're angry, livid, almost. A snarl tears from the person beside her, warm fingers brushing against the skin of her arm, tender in the way they graze her skin. There's an edge of terror to the words, a low whine and something like guilt, though she can't be sure, the words lost to her.

A second shape joins the first, then a third, and Lucy doesn't bother to focus on them, knowing it's pointless. She can barely think, her mind too slow. She's tired and she aches everywhere. It's like wading through honey, her thoughts slow and the struggle pointless as she's sucked further down, lost to everything around her.

There's a light touch along her jaw and cheek, familiar fingers tracing the curve of her skin soothingly. A hand slides to her temple, pushing her hair away from her face before circling back down, calloused skin lingering against her cheek, thumb brushing across her skin.

Her vision clears, if only for a moment, but she knows who it is hovering over her even before the fog around her clears. He would never leave her, she knows, and she was right.

Lucy focuses on the person above her and sees green eyes, though he isn't looking at her.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Natsu doesn't look at her eyes, focusing on anything but, and Lucy can't find the words to ask him what's wrong—what's happening—where is she—though she doesn't think she'd want to know, even if she could force the words out.

The voice begin to grow louder, and Lucy can recognize the deep baritone of Natsu's voice, words sharp and laced with concern. He bares his teeth at one of the strangers, growling at their reply, obviously not satisfied with their answer. His brow furrows, his lips curved back in a snarl, though there's no real bite to it, only an edge of panic. His expression turns pleading, his voice growing softer. His fingers stroke across her cheek, his touch burning against her clammy skin.

There's a soft reply and Natsu's eyes narrow, a familiar look of confusion crossing his face, only for his eyes to widen in horror a moment later. His mouth opens, Natsu beginning to shake his head slowly, but he's too late.

Something sharp rips across her arm, painful, but nothing she hasn't felt before. Lucy blinks, confused, but then something white hot tears through her entire body, starting from her left arm and ripping through her, the breath slamming from her lungs as her body jolts in shock, the feeling of a thousand knives stabbing her wracking her body.

A shrill sound pierces the air, high and pained, and it takes Lucy a moment to realize she's screaming. Her eyes snap open, Lucy unaware that they had fallen shut before the sudden pain flaring through her arm erupted. It slinks through her, curling everywhere until Lucy thinks her skin is splitting apart at the seams, her body tearing itself apart slowly, nothing to stop it from destroying everything in its path.

There's nothing she can do but twitch and sob, twisting on the table she's been placed on.

Lucy can smell blood, the scent thick in the air, and she knows it's hers without having to look. She can practically feel it draining from her, slowly leaking from her insides and splattering across the floor. They're going to bleed her out. Lucy sobs and jerks, twitching. Warm hands settle on her arms, pushing her down, and she panics, imagining hands on her throat, her lungs collapsing as she's choked. Her nails rip across something warm and solid, connecting with flesh, and she's momentarily satisfied with the curse that flies from whoever she's hit.

It doesn't last for long. Her vision swims and Lucy is slowly consumed by fire. Black spots dot her vision, head lolling to one side and tears streaking down her cheeks. The fog from before comes back, pulling at her violently, ripping her back into the darkness. She tries to fight it, clawing and kicking, but her arms are forced against her sides, pinning her, though their grip is gentle, far too caring to be a strangers.

She catches sight of apologetic green eyes and knows it's Natsu above her. He looks down at her sadly, lower lip trembling slightly, his jaw locked so tight that his muscles are straining. He looks sick, hovering over her, his skin a shade paler than normal and his eyes alight with horror—shock. Two thin lines stretch across his cheek, blood beginning to dot the cuts.

They lock eyes for only a moment, and then the fight leaves her, the darkness coming up to swallow her whole.

* * *

 _The trees whisper amongst themselves in hushed tones, low, indistinguishable voices a hum in the silence of the night, echoing through the stillness of the forest. Their gnarled branches twist together like thorns_ _—sharp, mangled, and bare of leaves—_ _winding and curling overhead until the sky above is nearly blackened out by the copse of wicked spines, only thin slivers of the waning moonlight flickering through the bare trees, illuminating the thicket with pale light. A thick, rolling fog hangs low over the forest floor, twisting between the trees like ghosts and swirling around the prone figure lying in the dirt. A biting chill curls through the air, fallen leaves rustling as a breeze sweeps through the woods. The fog dampens the earth as shadows dance across the ground, the scent of rain heavy in the air._

 _She blinks slowly, her vision remaining blurry and unfocused as her gaze flickers around what she can see of the copse. She shifts, sending messy coils of blonde hair spilling over her shoulder and obstructing her vision as she slips in and out of focus. Blinking heavily, she stares at the trees, distorted oaks appearing as hazy figures in her vision_ _—monsters slipping from the shadows and creeping closer with every breath_ _._

 _She winces suddenly, groaning in pain as her forehead throbs, a sharp, stinging ache spreading through her entire head. Something slick slides down her temple, though she hardly notices, more interested in squinting at the shadows coming to life around her._

 _The trees begin to quiver, bending and leaning in every direction, almost as if they were dancing_ _—trembling with fear of something she can't see_ _. Her eyes slam shut once more, and she whimpers softly as the whispering gets louder. The voices grow closer and closer as the trees begin to shake violently, the wind picking up and whipping the dead leaves across the ground until they begin to swirl around her._

 _Her eyes snap open wide and the forest falls silent once more. The voices disappear and the leaves still_ _—trees standing tall around her, as if they had never been moving to begin with._ _Her fingers twitch suddenly_ _—_ _scrapping across the ground almost violently as her nails sink into the fresh earth, rain still falling around her. Her eyes narrow in bewilderment as a phantom, icy finger runs along her spine, prickling the bare skin of her back as pale moonlight dances across her naked arms and shoulders, the ghost of a breeze making her shiver._

 _Holding her breath, she goes stock still, not daring to move as her fingers freeze against the wet ground. She peers through the curtain of hair falling in front of her eyes, heart beating out of control. Around her is nothing but naked trees winding high into the air, dead leaves littering the ground in warped shapes_ _—nothing else in sight_ _. Just dying trees and the fog curling around her frozen form._

 _A low, mournful sound splits the air, a single note that disappears as quickly as it came. The trees shriek suddenly, the thicket taking up the violent cry, roaring like a northern beast. Another hum, soft and sad, and the trees echo again. She twists to the side, a hand curled around her throat and squeezing—choking._

"— _drowned lover—"_

 _The sound is cut off, a sob building in her throat as she recognizes her mother's voice._

 _Around her the trees rattle, branches snapping together high above her head. She startles when a twig snaps in the darkness. Her mother keeps singing, and she forces herself to find the sound through the shrieking and snarling that's built up around her._

"— _come home to me."_

 _She drags herself across the wet earth, ignoring the mud and the rain, the screaming trees and the voice in her head telling her not to look._

 _The smell of blood hits her first, pungent and metallic, so strong that it makes her pause, bile rising into her throat as the smell attacks her senses. She swallows it back, a sick shuddery breath tearing from her as the smell curls around her, death hanging in the air._

 _At the edge of the copse, she forces herself to stand. Her lips twist into a grimace as she shifts her gaze around the thicket, squinting, eyes straining to see past the fog and branches, looking for anything that might tell her where she is. Being careful not to make a sound, she curls her arms closer to herself, flinching when a twig snaps beneath her, sounding all too loud in the darkness, even with the raging storm and the bloodcurdling screams. She releases a shuddery breath, lips quivering as she pushes up on her forearms, lifting herself just enough to raise her torso from the dirt. Her head snaps around once she does, dirty hair falling in her eyes, twigs and leaves twisted among the messy curls._

 _Her arms quiver beneath her as she shifts, settling onto her knees, then forces herself onto her feet, legs trembling so terribly she nearly crumples back to the forest floor, only staying upright by some miracle. Her jaw clenches tightly, teeth clanking together painfully as the aching worsens, a hiss escaping through her teeth before she can stop it._

 _A cackling sound reaches her, and suddenly she's standing at the edge of a clearing, watching as three men in golden armor prowl around a woman lying on the ground, snarling and snapping at her as she smiles back, singing a broken song that makes her soul ache._

 _The men attack at once, more beast than man, the trees shriek and cry, mourning as the woman is ripped into pieces. It happens slowly, a knife driven into her chest, the blade shinning silver for only a moment, and then just a spray of blood. So much blood._

 _They mangle her, tearing her apart until she's nothing more than a bloody streak against the wet grass. Still, she keeps singling. The woman's head drops to the side suddenly, bloody throat torn open wide and an eye hanging loosely from its socket. Her lips are twisted into a smile, blonde hair matted and dirty with blood and dirty._

 _Her mother's face_ _—_ her _face._

 _Her heart leaps into her throat, choking off the shriek bubbling in her chest. A strange gurgle is all that escapes her, foreign to her ears as it crawls from somewhere in the back of her throat_ _—low and guttural, surprised_ _. Her hands fly up to cover her mouth as she reflexively steps back, hitting a damp patch of grass as her dress tangles around her ankles like a malevolent hand. She crashes back to the forest floor, eyes slamming shut as the back of her head makes contact with the ground._

 _Her head snaps back up, and she meets a pair of eyes, glowing red in the darkness. She scrambles back on her hands, dragging herself away, but the monster only smiles, revealing sharp teeth and so much red that it spills over his lips and chin. Two more peer back at her._

 _They're all red._

 _They advance on her slowly, and when she blinks she finds herself far away, somewhere familiar but also not. Confusion floods through her, heart leaping into her throat as she glances around her with wild eyes, trying to remember how she got here and why they brought her._

 _Hot sand burns at her bare feet, and she quivers when she sees thousands of eyes staring down at her on all sides, watching and waiting, wanting for something, though she doesn't know what. They stare down at her, hungry, and she feels like curling into herself, disappearing, anything to hide from the monsters surrounding her._

 _She tries to take a step, but is yanked back. Spinning slowly, her gaze lands on a large, iron spike buried deep in the earth, a chain coiled across the ground, pulling taut when she tries to take a step. Her wrists are bound, she realizes belatedly, eyes widening in horror, though not by the chain. Simply rope is curled around her thin wrists, her arms more boney than she remembers them being._

 _An iron collar is curled around her throat and it burns, hotter than anything she's ever felt before. Her breath catches, a soft, choked sound spilling from her mouth, though it's swallowed by the sudden roar of the crowd, the sound deafening, maddening._

 _Her stomach twists sickly, bile rising in her throat, though she swallows it back, determined not to let her fear show. She's shaking, but only just so, not enough for anyone to notice unless they were close._

 _A skirt swirls around her ankles when she twists around, ivory and soft against her skin. It tangles around her legs, loose, and a breeze blows by, tickling the bare skin of her back. She frowns down at herself in confusion, but her attention is ripped away from the strange dress by a snarling sound, a roaring in her ears._

 _She whips around, dress billowing around her, and the sight before her shocks her. There's blood on the sand, so much blood that the ground is stained red, wet and sticky, clumped together. It clings to the edge of her dress, red soaking the fabric near the bottom, winding higher and higher on her skirt with each moment, the sand slick._

 _The crowd screams, cheers rising as the sound of violence splits the air, louder than anything she's ever heard before. It rings in her ears, echoing there, and she knows it's something she won't forget easily, the sound engrained in her mind for the rest of her days._

 _She knows where she is, though she's never seen it herself, only heard stories. The Domus Flau is just as she always imagined it would be. Beautifully crafted, the coliseum styled ring is made from marble, solid and expertly cut, nothing less for the wealthy spectators, the rich needing violence to quell the voids inside them, enjoying the misery of others. It's also just violent and disgusting as she guessed, with blood soaking every inch of the ground, the crowd jeering for more, elated with the spectacle of two young men killing each other for a sport they never wanted part in._

 _Two Berserks stand in the ring, a flurry of movement, the men so entangled and bloody that she can't see where one ends and the next begins. Blood is spilled across the ground, fresh and warm. It sinks into the sand, and the Berserks follow, one tackling the other to the ground. They snap and snarl at each other, drawing blood and leaving deep scars, breaking bones._

 _She tries not to watch, but she can't turn her eyes away. There's something horrible and fascinating about watching them fight, the raw power they hold is second to none, and there's a certain grace to the way they move, though it's masked by the carnage, the violence. They rip each other to pieces, leaving nothing left in their wake._

 _One of the Berserks goes down and he doesn't stand back up, body lying limp in the sand, life slowly draining from him. The crowd cheers, roaring for more, and the victor stands slowly, broad back facing her. He roars at the crowd, bloodlust shaking the arena. She tries to move, to run, knowing she's the only thing left to fight, but the chain holds her back and she falls to her knees, blood staining her skin._

 _She looks up to see familiar green eyes, a snarl twisting the Berserks features. Blood drips from his mouth, gaze far away, as if he doesn't see her, or maybe he simply doesn't care. Suddenly, his eyes meet hers, ice cold and sharp as a knife. It cuts through her, and she scrambles back, going as far as she can before the collar around her throat yanks her back._

 _The crowd screams and she murmurs his name._

 _He closes the distance between them, staring down at her for only a moment before strong fingers wrap around her neck and squeeze._

* * *

 **AN: As previously stated, I should be catching up with the rewrite by around this time next week, so new chapters will be starting soon.**

 **Glossary of Gods/Terms/Creatures:**

 **Djehl:** Fire God from the northlands that granted the Berserks their strength/inner fire. His battle axe is called Bran.  
 **Djerda:** Goddess of night and the mother of Djehl.  
 **Estra:** Sister of Djehl and Daughter of Djerda. Goddess of the Stars. pulled the stars from the sky and gave them life, proving her devotion to Ieyar, a chaos god, and creating the Fae, their magic gifted to them by Ieyar.  
 **Ieyar:** God of Chaos. Gifted the Fae their magic after Estra pulled the stars from the sky for him.  
 **Ashtacar:** Berserker word meaning "safe travels." Traditionally used between friends and family, it has since become a way to honor the dead, granting them "safe travels" on their way to the next life.  
 **Ulfræder:** Berserk word for "blood traitor." It's a relatively heavy insult. Being a "blood traitor" is an unforgivable act.  
 **Descæter:** Berserk word for "deserter." Follows the same vein of Ulfræder, but is less insulting. Blood traitors abandon their homes and families, white a deserter abandons their post/army position.  
 **Velsigna av Branna:** Berserk word for "blessed by fire." As Vesigna means "to bless." "Branna" comes from "Bran (Braun)" an old word for fire, and the name of the God Djehl's battle axe.  
 **Velsigna av Strakaz:** "Blessed by Stars" From "Estra," a Berserk Goddess of the night sky, daughter of Djerda, Goddess of night, and sister to Djehl. Term for Faeborne and a reference to their scent.

 **Ellyra** [El-eye-rah]: Formal name of the fairy trees. Rumored to house the souls of slain Fae within their trunks. The trees are semi-sentient, and can speak, though only to those who they want to hear. The trees are tall, with pale colored bark (white, to a light grey as the trees grow old) and red leaves. The trees bleed red sap, and in the Northlands they are commonly called Azgetta meaning "the bleeding" or alternatively "the weeping."


	31. Chapter 31

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/23/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Thirty One**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

"Magi," he snaps suddenly, staring at the woman with wide, horrified eyes. If she doesn't stop soon, Lucy won't wake up. She's lost too much blood far too quickly, being bled out three times now in just as many days. Ideally, she would have had time to rest between days, but she hasn't been getting better, not really. Lucy hasn't woken up yet, and that scares him more than he'd like to admit. The venom isn't gone from her arm yet, not completely, and it's only a matter of time until something far worse happens to her.

The healer doesn't look at him, ignoring the panic in his voice, and Natsu snarls at her. A low, threatening sound tears from somewhere deep inside him, and he sees Katya flinch out of the corner of his eye, the younger girl staring at him, wide-eyed and nervous. Though used to his outbursts, she's still a bit wary of his fangs and volatile nature, friendly but always a step away. Magi also stiffens, finally turning to look at him, surprised and annoyed.

Another growl slips out, and Magi finally concedes. She hesitates for a long moment, lips pressing into a thin line, as if she wants to continue, but she must notice the desperation in his eyes, because she gives a slow nod and ceases to milk the wound, stopping the gush of blood.

Magi reaches for the long strip of cloth slowly, lips pursed as she winds it around Lucy's arm, just above the fresh slice. It's pulled tight, enough to pucker Lucy's skin, and then Magi shoves a towel into his hands, jerking her chin towards the cut. She doesn't have to tell him what she wants. She backs away and Natsu takes her place closer to Lucy's head, hovering over her reflexively.

When he presses the cloth to her arm, Lucy flinches and her blood immediately begins seeping through, making his skin slick as he puts pressure on the open wound. His big hand wraps around her upper arm as he holds the towel in place, his fingers nearly wrapping around her completely. She's so small, lying there the way she is, unmoving, swallowed by a heavy blanket and gently tucked into the makeshift bed. With his free hand, he wipes her hair away from her face, pushing the sweaty strands to the side.

Lucy sighs when he touches her, relaxing slowly, leaning into his hand. Her skin still burns beneath his fingers, but her temperature seems to have lessened, much to his immense relief. She's not burning from the inside like she was before. He was afraid it would be too much for her body to handle, afraid she would boil herself alive. Natsu strokes her cheek as he puts pressure on the wound, uncaring of the blood sticking to his hands and bare chest.

Slowly, her breathing evens out, Natsu relaxing slightly as the tension leaves her face, Lucy falling into what must be a more restful sleep. She's been fitful lately, her expression pinched, pained when she sleeps. He thinks she's having nightmares, can tell by the way her breathing quickens and how she thrashes slightly, much like she did the first time she was bled.

He told her he would help her the next time she had a nightmare, but there's nothing he can do about this, nothing but watch and hope that she'll be okay.

After a moment, he's gently pushed away by Magi, the old woman nudging him aside so that she can clean Lucy's arm, a wet cloth in her hand. She sends Natsu the smallest of nods, humming to herself as she runs the clean cloth down Lucy's skin, wiping away blood and the thick puss that came from the festered wound.

He doesn't watch as Magi and Katya wrap the cut, more focused on Lucy's steady breaths, ignoring everything but the slow rise and fall of her chest, and the flutter of her eyelashes. Pure relief sweeps through him, Natsu sighing when he sees her breathing smooth out, steadier, less like she may stop at any moment.

At some point, he's shoved into a chair by Katya, the girl smiling at him as flits by, running to check on something in the back of the shop, Magi disappearing somewhere to clean up, murmuring something about how disgusting the blood is as she grabs the bucket filled with Lucy's blood, taking it out of sight. The smell lingers, tickling his nose and making him itch all over.

The compulsion magic calls to him, much like the collar used to, whispering in his ear like a snake and telling him what it wanted him to do. It was always mind-numbing, forcibly taking over, Natsu unable to do anything. In a way, it was like dreaming, he couldn't remember anything when he woke up, nothing but flashes. The pain is what he remembers most, how much it hurt to have it moving around in his head. He can't believe that Lucy had it in her blood, swimming around there beneath her skin.

He shakes his head, snarling to himself. Natsu's nails bite into his palm, nearly drawing blood before he catches himself. He uncurls his fists, nails carving deep indents in his flesh, the crescents smoothing slowly. Releasing a shaky breath, Natsu glances down at Lucy, leaning in close so that he can better look at her, shoulders losing their tension slowly.

Gently, he takes her hand in his, coiling his fingers through hers once again, letting out a soft sound when her fingers squeeze around hers in her sleep, Lucy clinging to him gently, squeezing around his every few seconds. He can feel her heartbeat through her skin, her pulse weak beneath his hand, but growing stronger with every beat. Her veins still swirl black beneath her skin, Magi only able to bleed out so much, in fear of Lucy losing too much.

His thumb strokes across the back of her hand, Natsu exhaling through his nose, the sound shaky. Panic catches up with him, his breaths coming in gasps for a moment before he squeezes his eyes shut. The last few days have been trying. He barely sleeps anymore, so terrified that if he leaves her side something could go wrong. He knows it isn't healthy, and he knows that Lucy would want him to take better care of himself, but he just can't bring himself to leave her alone again.

He wonders what might have happened at the tavern, had he not shown up when he did. Lucy would have been completely fine on her own, he knows, but when she collapsed the way she did—they could have taken her, they _would_ have taken her, given the opportunity.

Natsu glances down at the blood staining his fingers, lips curving back in a snarl. His hands curl into fists, his jaw clenching as he bares his teeth.

 _The smell of blood hit him hard, Natsu reeling back in shock as Magi sliced through the skin of Lucy's arm, the unconscious girl jolting awake and screaming, thrashing violently at the sudden pain. Lucy sobbed, trying to scramble away, but Natsu held her before she could move, pressing her arms against her sides as she arched off the table, clawing at him. She caught him across the cheek, drawing two thin lines of blood, but Natsu hardly noticed, gaze locked on the absolute horror in her eyes, pupils blow wide. He almost let her go when her gaze locked with his, terror reflecting in her honey eyes. It felt like a physical blow more than anything else, Natsu feeling his throat well with something bitter when he saw how scared she was—scared of him._

 _He almost let go, but then he saw the blackness oozing from the cut on her arm, thick and dark, a sludge more than anything else. It dripped down her skin, making loud, wet splats as if fell into the bucket on the floor beside the table. Natsu understood what was happening immediately, his skin crawling with the thought of it._

 _His shoulders tensed and Natsu grit his teeth, biting his cheek hard enough to draw blood when he saw Lucy's eyes roll back in her head. She went limp beneath him, eyes slipping shut and he didn't need Magi to speak to know she'd gone into some kind of shock, the pain too much for her to handle. He didn't know how awful it must have felt, but for her to lose consciousness over it, Natsu knew it must be worse than anything she'd faced before._

 _Natsu had never seen her react like that to anything, and he never wanted to again._

 _Blood dripped onto his skin, the sludge slipping down her arm and sliding along his fingers. He nearly ripped away from her, lips curling back at the cool, wet feeling. The smell was enough to make him gag, the scent of decay stronger than it ever had been before. It burned at his lungs, Natsu holding his breath to avoid the sickly smell. He could practically taste it. Something sour coated his tongue, like over-ripe fruit left out in the sun for too long. Lucy smelled like she was dying._

 _A low whine pulled from his throat, too quiet for anyone else to hear. Natsu's fingers squeezed around her arms gently, thumbs brushing along her skin in time with her heartbeat, slow and steady, hoping she knew that he there with her. He wouldn't leave her, not if he could help it._

 _Her blood slinked between his long fingers, oozing between them and making his hands slick with it. It didn't feel like blood, too cold and too sticky—viscous, almost like honey. It was thick and dark and he couldn't believe it had been in her arm for so long without him noticing. He should have been able to tell, should have known—should have done something._

 _Magi and Katya ignored him and his racing thoughts as they flittered around the room, Katya dashing around for supplies, and Magi standing firm beside him, milking the blood from Lucy's arm and forcing out more of the venom. She didn't snap at him, didn't tell him to leave, and for that he was grateful. He wasn't going anywhere; he would rather be back in Pergrande than leave her side at that moment._

 _Natsu's grip on her arms slackened, fingers sliding up until he was barely brushing against the scars on her shoulder. Lucy flinched, expressing twisting and sweat building on her brow, a fever wracking her body. A moment later, he released her entirely, brow furrowing as he glanced down at his skin. His hands came away wet, her blood sticking to his skin, and when he spread his fingers the sludge made a thin webbing between them, thick and disgusting._

 _Lucy jolted again, soft, pained sounds spilling from her lips, each one making Natsu flinch as if struck. His hands began to shake, fingers clenching into tight fists as he stared down at her. His skin grew paler with each little cry she made, stomach twisting sickly when he saw tears trailing down her cheeks, thin streaks catching the light just enough for him to notice._

 _He hated seeing her cry, hated that she was in pain and there was nothing he could do for her. There was nothing that could make it better, not without first making it worse. And he only had himself to blame for that. He should have noticed._

 _Magi pressed down harder on Lucy's arm, murmuring something he couldn't make out, and Natsu squeezed Lucy's fingers once more, her own hand curled around his, viselike. Even in her sleep, she was still as strong as strong as ever, fierce but also kind._

 _There was a sick splat as the venom gushed from her arm, dripping wetly into the bucket, each patter loud in Natsu's ears. He bit his cheek harder with each drip, tasting bile and blood in his mouth. His lungs screamed for air, Natsu unable to simply breathe._

 _He swallowed down the lump building in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for only a moment as he took a long, shaky breath, lips parting slightly. The taste on his tongue made him sick, but he bit back a reaction, knowing the situation wasn't about him. There were more important things than his sensitive stomach._

 _Natsu's eyes locked on the curve of Lucy's jaw, staring at her soft, sweaty skin and focusing on the details of her face, anything to block out the smell and the guilt eating away at him. He forced it back, needing to be strong for her, like she was for him. She was his rock when he needed her all those days ago, and he promised he would be there for her when she needed him._

 _Fingers lacing with hers, Natsu dragged his thumb across her knuckles, drawing absentminded shapes against her smooth skin._

 _They stayed that way for a long time, Natsu simply holding her as the pair of healers whispered to each other, Magi barking out orders and Katya hurrying to get supplies: bandages and a long, thin piece of cloth dumped beside Lucy's head, a towel shoved into Natsu's free hand as he refused to release her._

 _Lucy's skin grew paler than usual, losing all color and she began to shiver, breaths shallow and shaky, as if she was struggling to take in air. She'd lost too much blood too quickly, her body unable to handle it. She was beginning to die, he realized, breath catching and his chest going cold with fear._

 _Natsu glanced nervously at Magi, forcibly ripping his gaze away from Lucy and instead locking eyes with the older woman. She looked away from him immediately, focusing on Lucy's bloody skin, forcing more of the sludge from her arm._

 _It splattered into the bucket, and Natsu's stomach twisted when he saw how full it was, how much blood Lucy had truly lost._

 _He'd seen blood before. Lots of blood. He'd seen it splattered across the ground, seen it coating bodies and dripping down people in rivers. He'd always been truly amazed by just how much blood a person could lose before succumbing to the inevitable, how much the body can endure before shutting down completely._

 _Lucy's heart stuttered in response to his thoughts, weak beating slipping into silence._

Katya plops into the chair on the opposite side of Lucy, blinking back at him when he raises his eyes to look at her. There's a drown on her lips, her brow furrowed as she stares, much to Natsu's confusion. The young girl crosses her arms, humming to herself, and Natsu glances between her and Lucy, squeezing his friend's hand with his own before looking back at Katya, waiting for her to speak.

He hasn't felt much like talking lately, too exhausted with the events of the last two months to even think. Besides, he doesn't know what to say, not with Lucy the only thing on his mind.

She purses her lips, squinting at him. "So you were a king's guard," she states more than asks, leaning forward slightly, excitement dancing in her eyes. Magi stiffens, looking at Katya, horrified by the question, but the girl ignores her, watching Natsu expectantly. She doesn't look accusing, only curious, but it unsettles him nonetheless.

Natsu swallows thickly, peeling his eyes away from Katya and instead looking down at Lucy, tracing a finger across her palm as he worries his lip. She breathes evenly and Natsu allows his gaze to trail up her arm, coming to rest on the small scars on her shoulder. A heaviness falls over him and he sighs, squeezing her fingers gently. "I was," he tells Katya, voice thick. He doesn't look up at her, letting his eyes rake over Lucy's frame, watching to make sure everything's okay.

Nodding, Katya uncrosses her arms, propping her chin up with her hands, blinking at him curiously, expression pensive as she glances between him and Lucy. "How did you end up all the way in Bosco?" It's only a casual question, but it makes him flinch, his fingers squeezing around Lucy too tight for only a moment before he catches himself, releasing her entirely.

Magi inhales sharply, sending Katya a horrified look, blue eyes wide. "Katya!" she snaps at her apprentice, making the girl shrink back in surprise. She stalks over to them, glaring. "It's impolite to—"

"It's fine," Natsu cuts her off, giving a weak smile that doesn't begin to reach his eyes. He gives a tired sigh, shoulders drooping as he turns back to Lucy. "It's not—" He pauses, gritting his teeth as he winces, unsure what to say. That they've been running? That he has nowhere else to go? Natsu shakes his head, sighing. "It's a long story," he says simply, shrugging. He doesn't think it'll pacify the curious girl, but he doesn't know what else to say.

Lucy's always been the better one with words, but Lucy isn't here right now, not really.

Katya shrugs, grinning. "We have time," she tells him, persistent. It drags a small laugh from him, Natsu shaking his head in amusement, and Katya's grin widens, clearly self-impressed. He wonders if she's trying to cheer him up, and the thought makes him smile.

He wets his lips, deciding to tell them some of what happened, if only to keep the room from feeling so empty. Natsu doesn't mind the quiet, but he's so used to hearing Lucy's chatter that the quiet unnerves him slightly. He doesn't like not hearing her voice for so long, not when she's so close and obviously in pain. "Lucy stole something from the king," he explains. "I was sent to find her."

Katya gasps, eyes going wide. She slaps her hands over her mouth, long hair whipping around her as she shakes her head in disbelief. "She stole from him?" Katya repeats, looking down at Lucy in awe. "Wow! That's—"

"Katya," Magi hisses sternly, a disapproving lilt to her voice. She shakes her head down at the younger girl, clearly unimpressed, though Natsu doesn't know what with.

He ignored the woman, deciding to humor the girl, much like how he thinks Lucy would. "Yeah," he tells Katya, glancing down at Lucy's face. She looks calmer than before, though her expression is slightly pinched. He wets his lips, reaching out to smooth back her hair, letting his fingers linger against her cheek for a moment. "She's something isn't she?" he murmurs, more to himself than Katya. "We fought at first, but…" Natsu shakes his head. "We've been trying to make it to Fiore ever since."

She nods in response, glancing between Natsu and Lucy for a moment before her eyes alight with understanding. "Will you tell me about it?" It comes out softer than before, more timid and shy, as if Katya thinks she might be pushing a boundary that shouldn't be crossed.

Natsu only smiles, nodding. "Sure," he promises, allowing his fingers to curl through Lucy's once more. The feel of her pulse relaxes him, reminds him that she's still alive, that's getting better, if only a little.

And he does. Natsu tells Katya everything he can remember, only leaving out certain things he thinks might scare the girl, like their fight with the rogues and what happened in Jorah. He merely glosses over them, not wanting to talk about everything that's happened to them in so little time. Katya asks about the fights and he shows her his scars, Magi briefly commenting that Lucy did well, despite having no formal training, and Natsu feels his own pride swell for his friend. They ask him about traveling through Mithriel, and Natsu tells them stories about Lucy getting stuck in the snow, much to Katya's amusement.

He tells Katya how strong Lucy is, pointing to the scar forming on his chest from where she stabbed him during their fight, recounting how fierce she is in the face of danger, how she doesn't shy away from anything. He tells them how smart she is, and how much she cares about everyone around her, how she didn't turn him away despite the fact that he hurt her once. She's forgiving, but only to a point, somehow knowing who deserves it and who doesn't.

Katya asks him is he thinks Lucy is pretty, and he doesn't have the heart to deny it. She's always been pretty to him, with her wind swept hair and warm eyes that turn gold in the firelight. He'd be a fool not to see it. Besides, he's always liked the color gold, how it glints in the light. Lucy reminds him of it, with her hair and her eyes, as if she was spun from it.

"Unsurprising," Magi murmurs once he's finished telling them how it's like they simply connected, even though they probably shouldn't have. It was easy, how well they came together. He would call it fate if he believed in it. He thinks Lucy might, but fate has never meant anything to him, nothing but a pretty word.

His eyes narrow as he looks at her, frowning. "What?" he asks the woman, head cocking to one side. She stares at him for a long moment then sighs and rolls her eyes, as if it's something he should already know the answer to. For a moment, he thinks she won't answer him, but then she crosses her arms and purses her lips, pressing the back of her hand to Lucy's forehead to check her temperature.

"We stick together, you know," is all she says, not sparing him a glance as she slowly prods at Lucy's arm, making sure the bleeding has stopped. The bandage on Lucy's arm is stained red and black, the color slowly returning to normal. Once satisfied, Magi finally looks up at him pointedly, eyes expectant.

His confusion only deepens. "Who?" He glances down at Lucy's fingers tangled with his, unsure what exactly the old healer means. She doesn't respond and Natsu grows impatient. "Who sticks together?" he repeats himself, eyes narrowing in frustration. He's tired of not knowing things.

Sighing, Magi crooks a finger at him. "Berserks," she shifts her finger, pointing to Lucy, "Fae." Magi sighs, looking more tired than Natsu has ever seen her in the few days they've known each other. There's something like defeat in her eyes, something dead, like a light has gone out inside her. "We only have each other in this cruel world," she tells him. "We've each been persecuted, slaughtered for sport." She spits out the words like they're poison, hard eyes locking with his. "Pergrande destroyed us both."

Katya looks between them nervously, biting her lower lip, and Natsu sighs.

"It's not the same," he murmurs back, brushing his thumb against the back of Lucy's hand. Pergrande did destroy them, but in very different ways. The Fae were slaughtered, their magic drained, possibly by the weapon Lucy told him of weeks ago. The Berserks were enslaved, forced to fight.

He doesn't know which of them received the better hand.

Magi hums lowly. "No," she agrees, "it's not, but we've always had ways of finding each other, even in the most unlikely of ways." He knows she's right. She's the second Faeborne he's met in such a short amount of time. It's like they seek each other out, somehow unconsciously finding each other.

Her words register in his mind, Natsu's brow furrowing. He looks away from Magi and glances at Lucy, expression softening when he notices her relaxed expression, her breathing steadier than before. "You knew a Berserk." They both know it isn't a question. Natsu keeps his eyes on Lucy, leaving the woman to her thoughts.

It takes a long moment for her to respond, Magi heaving a tired sigh. She curls in on herself briefly, making herself small, and her gaze is far away, looking but not seeing. Her mouth curves into a sad smile and she stares wistfully at the far wall in the room. "I married one," she confesses.

Natsu stiffens, eyes widening slightly, but he doesn't look at her, keeping his eyes on Lucy. Katya stares wide-eyed at her mentor, lips parted slightly, clearly not being privy to that information. Natsu shakes his head slowly, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He wants to ask, but doesn't know if it would be impolite. Usually, he wouldn't care, but this woman has helped him and Lucy more than he could ever repay her for. He doesn't want to risk hurting her like that.

Several minutes pass before Natsu wets his lips, the silence eating away at him. "What happened to them?" he finally asks, daring to glance at Magi.

Lips curving back in a snarl, Magi slowly turns to look at him, a storm brewing in her eyes, turning near silver to something darker, more violent. "Domus Centari happened," she spits, growling the name like it's a curse. She shakes her head sadly, shoulders drooping in defeat. "We were expecting our third child when soldiers stormed into our home." Katya gasps and Natsu winces, unable to imagine how painful that would be. "We lived closer to the Mithriel border then, thinking the king wouldn't dare send soldiers across the icelands." A bitter smile curls across her lips. "We were wrong, of course. The king never did like to lose his toys, lest of all the unbreakable ones."

Magi sighs. "Fehru was unprepared," she continues after a long moment, stroking Katya's hair gently, speaking more to herself than either of them. "We both were. It had been years since we ran from Pergrande. Nearly a decade." Katya reaches up, linking her fingers through Magi's and sending the woman a small, sad smile, which Magi returns. Natsu stares down at his hands. "But he still came. They didn't bother to bring him back with them, just slaughtered him where he stood. Shoved a blade through his heart. It was over before it began." Her voice dips into a whisper at the end, Natsu straining to hear her.

"I'm sorry," he tells her, voice thick, and he winces when he thinks about it. He understands, in a way. He knows what it's like to lose someone, they all do, but to have someone you love ripped away so suddenly? After years of thinking they were safe? Natsu thinks that would be enough to break a person.

He glances down at Lucy, squeezing her fingers gently.

"My advice," Magi starts softly, locking eyes with him, "young Berserk." She purses her lips, briefly glancing down at Lucy. "Don't stop running, not ever." Her expression turns cold, her teeth grinding together. "Because he won't stop chasing. You either keep running, or you be prepared to fight," she tells him.

Slowly, Natsu nods, tearing his eyes away from Magi. He wets his lips, staring at his hands as he hears Magi and Katya stand. The younger girl places a hand on his shoulder as she passes, giving him a gentle squeeze, but Natsu doesn't look up, instead mulling over what Magi told him.

His hands curl into fists, his nails digging into his palms as a low growl spills from his throat, his lips curving back in a snarl. Sighing, he turns back to Lucy, tangling their fingers together gently.

He's tired of running.

* * *

 **AN: As previously stated, I should be catching up with the rewrite by around this time next week, so new chapters will be starting soon.**

 **Glossary of Gods/Terms/Creatures:**

 **Djehl:** Fire God from the northlands that granted the Berserks their strength/inner fire. His battle axe is called Bran.  
 **Djerda:** Goddess of night and the mother of Djehl.  
 **Estra:** Sister of Djehl and Daughter of Djerda. Goddess of the Stars. pulled the stars from the sky and gave them life, proving her devotion to Ieyar, a chaos god, and creating the Fae, their magic gifted to them by Ieyar.  
 **Ieyar:** God of Chaos. Gifted the Fae their magic after Estra pulled the stars from the sky for him.  
 **Ashtacar:** Berserker word meaning "safe travels." Traditionally used between friends and family, it has since become a way to honor the dead, granting them "safe travels" on their way to the next life.  
 **Ulfræder:** Berserk word for "blood traitor." It's a relatively heavy insult. Being a "blood traitor" is an unforgivable act.  
 **Descæter:** Berserk word for "deserter." Follows the same vein of Ulfræder, but is less insulting. Blood traitors abandon their homes and families, white a deserter abandons their post/army position.  
 **Velsigna av Branna:** Berserk word for "blessed by fire." As Vesigna means "to bless." "Branna" comes from "Bran (Braun)" an old word for fire, and the name of the God Djehl's battle axe.  
 **Velsigna av Strakaz:** "Blessed by Stars" From "Estra," a Berserk Goddess of the night sky, daughter of Djerda, Goddess of night, and sister to Djehl. Term for Faeborne and a reference to their scent.

 **Ellyra** [El-eye-rah]: Formal name of the fairy trees. Rumored to house the souls of slain Fae within their trunks. The trees are semi-sentient, and can speak, though only to those who they want to hear. The trees are tall, with pale colored bark (white, to a light grey as the trees grow old) and red leaves. The trees bleed red sap, and in the Northlands they are commonly called Azgetta meaning "the bleeding" or alternatively "the weeping."


	32. Chapter 32

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/23/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Thirty Two**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Natsu watches the slow rise and fall of Lucy's chest, her breath hitching every third inhale, only to smooth once more, as if it never happened. Her expression is pinched even as she sleeps, distressed. He knows she's still in pain, perhaps less than before, but pain is pain regardless of the amount. And Lucy must have been in a lot of pain, considering how much she screamed when Magi made that first cut.

The sound echoes in his ears when it's quiet, nothing real to drown out the sounds inside his head. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget that sound, not even if he tried. Lucy had never screamed like that before, not that he can remember. And he would, remember that is. He would never be able to forget something so awful. She'd been hurting for so long because of him, and somehow she was able to sit so close to him, to smile at him like nothing was wrong.

His fingers play with hers, more of a nervous tick than anything else. Natsu's been doing it a lot lately, focusing on things like her breathing and the smallest twitches in her expression, touching her fingers to make sure she's still warm, still solid and alive. Faeborne are mostly human, they die just the same as everyone else, but all week he's had the awful feeling that if he turned away from her for a moment, she would simply disappear.

Stardust. Ashes. He thinks she might just disappear into dust and drift away, gone before he could do anything to stop her from leaving. He doesn't think he could handle that, not for a long time. Not when they almost made it to Fiore, not when it was his fault she was hurt in the first place.

Natsu's thumb traces a path across her palm, drawing Algiz across her skin and wishing he could have done more to protect her from the poison worming through her veins, killing her so slowly that neither of them noticed. She was as strong as ever and he never noticed that she was hurting as much as she must have been, not even once. The smell of decay clinging to her was so gradual, so _constant_ that he didn't notice it any longer. It mixed with the smell of her skin, a dark spot in the midst of stardust and honey.

Lucy always smelled sweet to him, but now death is masking the smell of her, clogging his nose each time Magi lets her bleed, spilling out all of the inky sludge beneath her skin. It isn't quite blood, not in smell and certainly not in looks. It's thicker, more like slime and puss than actual blood.

Her fingers twitch against his palm and Natsu smiles, though it doesn't begin to reach his eyes. He knows it's merely a reaction to the blood returning to her arm, the last of the black blood being removed from her the night before.

Keeping her hand in his, Natsu shifts slightly, his free hand coming up to touch her arm, sliding slowly as he runs fingertips along her smooth, clammy skin, dragging his hand up until he reaches the small, silver scars on her upper arm, marks left by his teeth sinking into her skin nearly down to the bone. He winces at the thought, lips twisting into a grimace as his thumb flicks over the marks, tracing them slowly. He leaves them a moment later, slipping down an inch to the fresh mark on her arm, a neat little cut roughly midway along her upper arm. It'll scar, he thinks, but she'll live. She'll live.

He was so terrified that she was going to die that first day. She almost did. When Magi drew the cut across her arm, Lucy bled for too long, too much, too quickly. Magi barely managed to stop the bleeding into something controllable, but not before Lucy's heart stopped for several seconds. While Magi and Katya didn't notice, too focused on stopping the bleeding, Natsu could hear it perfectly, her heart stuttering before stopping, only for a moment, but long enough for him to feel absolutely sick. Her screaming cut off quickly, Lucy in too much pain to process anything that was happening. Natsu almost wished she hadn't stopped, at least that was he would know for sure that she was alive.

Blood letting. That was Magi's solution. They needed to drain the venomous magic from her system. While Lucy's own magic had been keeping it at bay, holding it back and keeping it from spreading too far, it would only be a matte of time before the darkness swallowed her whole, overriding her own magic and eating away at her from the inside out.

That first night, Lucy almost didn't make it. Her body was already weak from fighting the magic in her system, weak from travel and fighting. She was more tired than she ever let on, though he wonders if she even realized how exhausted she really was, if she could feel the strength sapping from her, so slow it almost wasn't noticeable.

She was so pale that first night, and cold. She lost too much blood, Magi nearly bleeding her dry before she finally stopped the flow. Natsu didn't sleep that night, didn't leave her side even for a moment, he hardly has all week. He simply sat there, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest and wishing there was something more he could have done.

Again, he draws the rune against her palm, her upper arm, the curve of her jaw, anywhere he can reach. For a moment he wishes he could pain them across her skin for everyone to see. Natsu wishes they could make her feel stronger, like they always have for him. More than that, he wishes they could actually do something. He wishes they could protect her from the remnants of ink staining her blood and draining her magic, eating away at her bit by bit.

To live and die by the runes.

Something bitter wells in his throat, Natsu's lips curving back over his teeth in a snarl. He can't do anything but hope and pray that he doesn't wake up to find her dead. Natsu can't fight this, can't scare it away, or keep it from hurting her; he can only watch and trust that she's stronger than whatever magic is consuming her from the inside.

He does. Natsu knows she's strong, maybe even stronger than him. He was only ever able to fight against that magic once, and that was when he first met Lucy, but she's been fighting it for weeks now, acting like nothing was wrong, smiling at him like nothing was wrong. He thinks he would have killed her if it was him fighting that magic. It would have wormed its way back into his head and he would have done whatever it wanted, to used to the compulsion to try fighting it.

Lucy though, she's a fighter, maybe not in the same way as him, but a fighter nonetheless. She's one of the strongest people he's ever met, her willpower second to none.

Natsu's fingers brush across her jaw as he leans closer to her, forearms braced on the bed. The color has been returning to her cheeks, slowly, but the change is noticeable. She looks more alive than she did a week ago, not nearly as breakable. The bags are gone from beneath her eyes, though Natsu's have only grown darker. Her breathing has become easier, not as strained, though there is a hiccup to the pattern, slight but there. He isn't worried though, not as much as he was.

She'll wake up, eventually, and he'll be right here until she does.

He should get up, stretch his legs and maybe take a walk around the city, but he can't bring himself to go too far, afraid that something might happen while he's gone. He won't risk leaving and coming back to find her like he did in the tavern the other week, so shaky on her feet and looking halfway to collapsing. He only thought she was nervous then, afraid of being surrounded, but he should have known better.

His fingers curl tighter around hers, Natsu clinging to her hand and stroking her cool skin with his thumb, holding her gently as he rubs circles against her skin. Natsu's free hand drifts to the bag at his side, something Katya was kind enough to retrieve from their room in the inn. The girl seemed to notice his reluctance to leave Lucy, though he figures it must have been rather obvious, what with the way he hasn't gone more than ten feet other than to use the small washroom at the back of Magi's shop. Katya volunteered to get their things, Natsu barely finishing the address before the girl was gone, practically running out of the shop.

Natsu's hand slips into the bag, feeling around for whatever it has to offer, not looking for anything specific. The bag has a way of knowing exactly what they need, and he figures he could use a bit of that magic at the moment, anything to take his mind of the sounds of Lucy's screams and scent of her blood clinging to his nose. He can't seem to wash that away. He could pick out the scent of her blood out of a thousand other smells and he hates it, wishes it wasn't so familiar.

Something cool slides along his fingers, metal burning against his fingers. Natsu almost yanks his hand away, snarling as he thinks it's the collar that started this mess, but pauses before letting it slip through his fingers. It's too thin to be the collar, more flexible. There's no darkness radiating from the chain, only the faint hum of magic, something light and sweet.

It tangles through his fingers and he lift it from the bag, the object weighed down by something heavy. He brushes his thumb along it, frowning in confusion, but can't make out what it is, the object smooth beneath his thumb, oval in shape and glossy.

Natsu realizes what it is a moment before he yanks his hand free from the bag, a gold chain wound around his fingers and a red gem glinting against his palm, practically flickering as if it's on fire. His breath catches as he looks at it, realizing it's been weeks since he's seen it, nearly forgetting about it entirely.

It flickers in the light, red and gold a stark reminder of Pergrande. Sucking in a shaky breath, Natsu drags his thumb along the curved face of the jewel, feeling the Fae magic hum beneath the surface. It's blessed, though he doesn't know what with. Vaguely, he wonders if it can heal, if it could help her, but he banishes the thought, sure it would have done something by now if it could.

He knows the magic calls to her as much as it does him, maybe not as violently, but he knows she can sense it, a looming presence in the back of her mind. He's always aware of it, of the collar in the bag, dark magic practically seeping from the ruby stone, looking to curl around them and take hold.

And it did. It's been taking Lucy for days, stealing into her mind and eating away at her. Even now that it's gone, Lucy still isn't awake, her energy sapped and her body left shaken from the raw power that swept through her.

He understands the feeling. The collar always hurt to put on, feeling like ice was burning through his veins and ripping him apart from the inside, his skin peeling back and revealing the muscle and bone hidden beneath. As the magic curled through his mind, it was like Natsu was losing pieces of himself.

Taking it off never felt much better.

There was a sting to it, a jolt as he regained control of his mind, then a pulsing headache that would last for hours, perhaps even days depending on how long he wore the collar. He hated it. There were times he thought dying would be better than the aching in his head, better than the short, sharp flashes of what he did while under the collar's control. Nothing solid was ever remembered, just little things that made no sense: screaming, the smell of something burning, the color blue. He never had any idea what they meant or what he did, but he knows they must have been awful things.

With Lucy all he can remember from that fight is her eyes, wide and terrified, and the taste of her blood, something he hadn't thought was real.

His fingers squeeze tighter around the chain in his hand, the gem practically pulsing in his hand as Natsu snarls, glaring down as his hand curled around Lucy's, more angry with the situation than anything else. He's terrified that Lucy won't wake up and he thinks that fear may begin to manifest as anger. He's never been one for staying idle, not unless he doesn't have a choice. Natsu can feel his bones trying to crawl from his skin, his agitation growing the longer he's kept in one place.

He's restless, but he won't leave her.

The weight of the necklace is heavy in his hand, and Natsu's fingers squeeze tightly around hers, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he stares down at her. Her breath hitches again, and Natsu sighs as he stands slowly, leaning over her slowly. His hand slips from hers, coming up to trace her jaw line instead, Natsu murmuring her name as he looks down at her. Lucy doesn't move, just takes in a slow breath. He brushes her bangs away from her eyes, concern flickering in his eyes when he sees just how pale she still is, her body unable to keep up with her blood loss over the past few days.

Sighing, Natsu leans in, pressing his lips to her forehead, eyes squeezing shut. His hands shake and he lingers for too long, but he doesn't dwell on it. She's done the same to him when he's been hurt. It may not help with the healing, but it's better than doing nothing.

He pulls away from her slowly, sighing to himself, and his thumb strokes her cheek gently. The gem in his hand burns into his palm, warm, but not unpleasantly so. Natsu glances down at it, frowning slightly, and raises it higher, looking between the gem and Lucy. A moment later, he's moving, dropping the heavy gem to rest against her throat, thin chain draped over her collarbones as he clasps it around her neck.

His fingers linger against the jewel, Natsu staring down at it, deciding he likes the look of it on her. It matches the red and gold of her shirt, filigree highlighting the color of her eyes. If Natsu didn't know better, he would have thought she was a child of fire like him. She has the spirit for it.

Lucy is more fierce than anyone he's ever met, the heart of a lion buried deep inside her, a fire in her soul. He hopes it never goes out, knowing she wouldn't be the same without that fire, only a shell of herself. She wouldn't be Lucy anymore, and that scares him more than he's willing to admit. Lucy matters to him, and he doesn't want that spark in her eyes to disappear like it was never there. He saw it go out, only for a moment at the tavern, but it was like she was nothing but a shadow of herself. Gone.

Thumb tracing the curve of the jewel resting against her chest, Natsu sighs, eyes squeezing shut briefly before he looks down at her, wishing he could see her eyes. His fingertips ghost over her skin, and he pauses, feeling her heat seeping into his flesh, heartbeat steady beneath his palm. For a moment, he keeps his hand there, feeling her heart beating below his hand, the sound comforting.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks her, not really searching for an answer, but knowing he needs to ask. He would have done something if he knew, could have prevented this, somehow, but he didn't know. Lucy doesn't answer and he's left to his thoughts, making up his own reasons. He thinks maybe she was scared, of him or something else, he can't be sure, but he thinks she must have been terrified of something.

He would be scared to.

"Compulsion magic," someone speaks up from behind him, Natsu not needing to turn to know it's Magi. He doesn't look at her, simply waits for her to explain herself. "I would assume." She hums to herself, shuffling slightly. "There was a high level charm on that collar of yours, something very dark." A low growl builds in his throat at the mention of the collar, but Magi ignores him. "It took away your free will, yeah?" the woman asks him, finally moving into his line of vision.

His lips curl into a snarl, teeth bared in disgust. Absentmindedly, his fingers clench around the necklace, burning hot against his skin, but he ignores it. "Yeah," he replies simply, a growl bubbling in his chest, nearly tearing from his throat before he swallows it back. Natsu glances up at Magi briefly, turning back to Lucy quickly.

Magi settles on the other side of the room, not sparing him a look as she continues to rile through drawers, in search of what, he doesn't know, but she seems determined to find it. "It did the same to her," she explains to him, pursing her lips as she shuffles a stack of old papers. "Though to a lesser extent," Magi tacks on, shrugging slightly.

Natsu sneers, growl ripping from his chest. The sound startles Magi, who drops an empty vial. It clatters against the table, but doesn't break. "Lesser extent," Natsu repeats, a bitter, disbelieving laugh tumbling passed his lips. He shakes his head, snarling. "It nearly _killed_ her," he snaps back at the older woman, not angry exactly, but frustrated with Magi's indifference.

"Aye," Magi agrees gently, casting him a quick glance, eying him warily, waiting for another blow-up. "But it didn't." It's a gentle reminder, but it does nothing to calm his frazzled nerves. "By all accounts, your girl there should be dead." He flinches, baring his teeth at her in a warning, but Magi only rolls her eyes when she sees him. "Don't make that face," she snaps, chastising him, "she's breathing isn't she?"

Natsu sighs, turning away from her, eyes tired. He turns back to Lucy, gently brushing her hair from her eyes, knuckles brushing against her cheek gently. "It was my fault," he tells Magi, or maybe he's only speaking to himself. Wincing, he places a protective hand against her arm, thumbing the small scars on her arm before drifting lower to touch the stitches in her arm, tracing them with a gentle finger. He sighs to himself.

"Maybe," Magi agrees, making him flinch as if she'd physically hit him. Magi glances up at him slowly, blue eyes blinking back at him, freezing him in place. "Maybe it is your fault," she repeats, not accusing, but something he can't place. She gages his reaction, watching his face twist into something like grief. "But would she blame you?" Magi asks him gently, nodding at Lucy lying beside him.

"No," Natsu whispers back, knowing she never would. Lucy is too forgiving for that. She hasn't blamed him for a lot of things he's done, he doubts she would start not. He got them into this mess to begin with, but she's never once blamed him for anything that's happened to her, even when she had every right to.

Magi nods, pursing her lips. She quirks a brow at him, looking unimpressed. "Than you shouldn't blame you either," she replies simply, as if it's that easy to do. He'd think she should know better than to say something like that, but then wonders if she's speaking from experience.

He snorts softly, shaking his head, nearly laughing to himself at how ridiculous it sounds. "That's not how it works," he reminds her. Guilt doesn't disappear so easily. It clings to the skin, ensnaring and refusing to release. He wears his like a second-skin, letting it wrap around him, thick and heavy. It's better to accept it, than to pretend he's done nothing wrong.

"I know," Magi says softly, walking around the bed to press her hand to Natsu's shoulder. He doesn't look at her, eyes trained on Lucy's chest, watching the steady rise and fall. "But you have to try." She pats his shoulder, comforting him, and his fingers squeeze around Lucy's wrist as he draws his rune against her skin. "That anger in your heart? That hatred?" she tells him. "That'll eat you from the inside." It's a warning, he knows.

Natsu nods slowly, swallowing the lump building in his throat. "Kannibeler," he murmurs back, wetting his lips. She blinks back at him, confused. "The cannibal," he explains quietly, lacing his fingers through Lucy's. "That's our word for it." One who eats itself.

Magi leaves without another word, disappearing from the room in the time it takes him to blink, as if she was never there. He shakes his head, heaving a tired sigh as he brushes his fingers against Lucy's skin. He isn't sure when he became so comfortable touching her like this, but he can't say he minds. It's nice, to touch someone so casually and have them not shy away.

Berserks have always been physical beings, holding each other, speaking more through actions than words. He remembers being young, being held by his mouth, how her arms would wrap around him, holding him close whenever she would get the chance. His father was the same, when he was still around, always ruffling his hair and patting his head.

Igneel was the same way, always showing his affection by pulling him into brief hugs or curling an arm around his neck and he messed with Natsu's hair, making him laugh and bat his foster father's hand away.

It's the way Berserks have always been, more connected through flesh than anything else. He hasn't had much contact with others since he was brought to Pergrande. Natsu was either caged or not in control of himself, and others were too afraid to come near him, thinking he would hurt them. They weren't wrong, of course, given the chance in his early years he would have snapped necks to break out of that place. He would have done anything to run.

He didn't realize what he was doing with Lucy at first, unaware of how different their social norms were. It wasn't until they settled in Jorah that he realized how often they were touching each other, small things really, their fingers touching or his hand on her back, nothing much. She never seemed to mind, holding him as much as he does her, seeking him out at times.

Natsu thinks he likes it, the quiet intimacy they share, hardly noticeable when they aren't paying attention, but growing stronger each day. He hadn't meant to push that on her, and he would stop if she told him too, but Lucy doesn't seem to mind the way he holds her.

They've grown familiar with each other so quickly, and he thinks Magi might be right. Their kinds do seek each other out, understanding each other in a way that nothing else ever could.

He likes having that with her, more than he ever could have expected.

Natsu wonders what her family will think of him, knowing what he is and how he hurt her. Berserks aren't well liked in Fiore, and while he thinks her family may be more open and understanding than most, he doesn't think they'll react well to him. Not for the first time, he wonders if he should stay with her for that long, or if they should part ways at the Fiore border. Perhaps he could stay in Bosco, find something to do.

Deep down, he knows he doesn't want to leave her, but he will if she asks him to.

Shaking his head, Natsu lifts their tangled hands off the bed, raising them so that he press his lips to Lucy's knuckles, her skin cool against his. He stares down at her, merely holding her fingers to his mouth as he traces her with his eyes, mapping her as best he can. Thumb brushing against the back of her hand, Natsu sighs, nosing at her fingers gently, wishing she would open her eyes.

His own squeeze shut, Natsu sighing heavily. His grip tightens around her, her fingers twitching against his hand. "Why didn't you tell me, Mae Strakaz?" he repeats, softer than before. The endearment slips from him without permission, but it sounds right. He wouldn't know what else to call her. Mae Ulska is too general a term, there's no weight to it, nothing personal.

The stars though, there's no one else they would ever remind him of, only Lucy.

Eyes still shut, he pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles, breath fanning across her skin gently. Something moves, the bed creaking softly, and Natsu's eyes snap open when Lucy's grip tightens on his fingers. He doesn't look up at her, unsure if it's simply his mind playing tricks on him, but then her fingers pull from his, her hand settling on his cheek, cradling him. "I didn't like you back then."

Natsu releases a shaky breath, his limbs suddenly feeling heavy. He covers her hand on his cheek, slipping his fingers through hers easily and tangling them together. "And after?" he questions, voice cracking horribly. He looks up at her, tired, honey eyes locking with his. Exhaustion rolls from her in waves, but she manages a smile for him.

"I didn't want you to blame yourself," she croaks, wincing at the pain in her throat. Her free hand rises, skimming over the necklace at her throat gently before her fingers settle at her neck, rubbing the fading bruises gently, face twisting in fear for a moment. Her eyes meet his and he thinks she's about to cry.

Natsu surges up from the chair he's been sitting it, wetting his lips as his knees crack horribly, legs stiff from disuse. He hovers over her, pressing his knee into the mattress beside her hip, his big hands coming to rest on either side of her face, gently coaxing her to hold his gaze. "Lucy," he murmurs sadly, unsure what he can say to make her feel better.

She exhales shakily, breath fanning over his face, he's so close to her. "I tried," she tells him, tears spilling down her cheeks, "but..." He wipes them away with his thumbs, shaking his head slowly. She leans into his touch, curling closer to him, and Natsu wets his lips, continuing to brush away the tears in her eyes.

"I know," he tells her softly, slipping an arm under her back and gently helping her sit up, grip around her tightening when her own arms curl around him, fingers gripping tightly at his back, nails biting at his skin. He doesn't care about the slight pain, nuzzling against her hair as his eyes squeeze shut. She's awake. She's okay. "I know," he repeats softly in her ear, Lucy trembling against him, sobbing. "You're okay now."

Natsu presses his lips to her hair, feeling his own eyes grow wet with relief as she clings to him, ragged breaths fanning over his neck. He tucks her beneath his chin, rocking her slowly, and Lucy's fingers clutch at his back. Something warm and wet slides down his neck, and Natsu winces at the sound of her sobs, wishing he knew how to make it better.

"You're okay," he repeats, nosing at her hair, holding her tight to his chest, wishing he could slip her beneath his ribs, keep her safe.

* * *

 **AN: As previously stated, I should be catching up with the rewrite by around this time next week, so new chapters will be starting soon.**

 **Glossary of Gods/Terms/Creatures:**

 **Djehl:** Fire God from the northlands that granted the Berserks their strength/inner fire. His battle axe is called Bran.  
 **Djerda:** Goddess of night and the mother of Djehl.  
 **Estra:** Sister of Djehl and Daughter of Djerda. Goddess of the Stars. pulled the stars from the sky and gave them life, proving her devotion to Ieyar, a chaos god, and creating the Fae, their magic gifted to them by Ieyar.  
 **Ieyar:** God of Chaos. Gifted the Fae their magic after Estra pulled the stars from the sky for him.  
 **Ashtacar:** Berserker word meaning "safe travels." Traditionally used between friends and family, it has since become a way to honor the dead, granting them "safe travels" on their way to the next life.  
 **Ulfræder:** Berserk word for "blood traitor." It's a relatively heavy insult. Being a "blood traitor" is an unforgivable act.  
 **Descæter:** Berserk word for "deserter." Follows the same vein of Ulfræder, but is less insulting. Blood traitors abandon their homes and families, white a deserter abandons their post/army position.  
 **Velsigna av Branna:** Berserk word for "blessed by fire." As Vesigna means "to bless." "Branna" comes from "Bran (Braun)" an old word for fire, and the name of the God Djehl's battle axe.  
 **Velsigna av Strakaz:** "Blessed by Stars" From "Estra," a Berserk Goddess of the night sky, daughter of Djerda, Goddess of night, and sister to Djehl. Term for Faeborne and a reference to their scent.

 **Ellyra** [El-eye-rah]: Formal name of the fairy trees. Rumored to house the souls of slain Fae within their trunks. The trees are semi-sentient, and can speak, though only to those who they want to hear. The trees are tall, with pale colored bark (white, to a light grey as the trees grow old) and red leaves. The trees bleed red sap, and in the Northlands they are commonly called Azgetta meaning "the bleeding" or alternatively "the weeping."


	33. Chapter 33

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/24/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Thirty Three**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Her bag feels heavier than before. Not for an increase of things, but because something has changed suddenly, with her and Natsu especially. It's not unpleasant, just heavy, some kind of tension thick in the air. She isn't sure what it is or what it means, it's simply there, wrapped around them like a warm blanket, pleasant for a time, but easily becoming stifling and too hot—nearly suffocating. It's nothing he's done, Natsu being gentle and patient with her since she woke up, a constant reassuring presence that she's come to rely on, in some ways.

He's been watching her since she came to, hardly leaving her side unless necessary, and Lucy doesn't mind. What happened at the pub terrified her, Lucy afraid that if she closes her eyes, she won't wake up again. It's a nagging feeling in her gut, something ice cold and bitter that makes panic well in her throat. He's always there to soothe her anxiety, a reassuring hand on her back as he whispers to her, calming her.

It's been days since she woke up, and she knows he's grown restless waiting like this, Natsu not enjoying being cooped up in Magi's home. When he's not at her side, he's pacing the halls, still stiff from sitting in one place for so long. He'd denied it, of course, but Katya was quick to tell her that Natsu absolutely refused to leave her side while she was being consumed by the venom in her veins, picking a fight when Magi first tried to make him leave. Natsu didn't argue with that, green eyes locked with hers, something heavy and heated in his gaze. He looked at her like she would disappear, and it made her stomach churn at the thought.

She hadn't meant to scare him. That's the last thing she would ever want to do to him, but she couldn't help it, couldn't control the magic in her blood, slowly worming through her entire body, eating away at her until nothing was left, until she was almost gone. Katya whispered to her that her heart stopped only for a moment, but it was enough to send Natsu into a blind frenzy, the Berserk releasing a low, mournful sound and looking ready to snap before she began breathing again.

She's glad he stopped himself. She wouldn't know what to do if something happened to him because of her. Lucy would never forgive herself for that.

Natsu's fingers suddenly squeeze around hers as he drops into a crouch before her, head tilted up to meet her eyes, searching her expression for anything concerning. She smiles back at him as best she can, knowing it's wobbly. She hasn't been smiling much lately, too tired and shaken by recent events, slowly coming to realize that she was dying for nearly two months, her mind and body taken over by a type of magical parasite, darkness feeding off her Fae blood.

If she was completely human, Lucy thinks she would be dead right now.

Again, Natsu squeezes her hand, slipping his fingers through hers gently. She grips him back, managing a slightly stronger smile, wanting him to know she's okay. He doesn't look convinced, however. Natsu's eyes narrow only a hair, his gaze darkening as he stares up at her, looking through her front.

"How are you feeling?" he asks softly, raising their entwined hands so that her knuckles graze his lips. Natsu holds her hand there, warm breath fanning over her chilled fingers, breathing life back into her cold bones and burning her from the inside out. His concern is palpable, Lucy practically able to taste it in the air, it's so thick around them.

Sighing, Lucy wiggles out of his grip, her hands coming up to rest against his cheeks, thumbs ghosting his skin. He leans into her, one hand coming up to curl around his wrist, holding her against him. Her lips twitch up into a small, honest smile for the first time in days, Lucy at peace with herself. "I'm fine, Natsu," she promises, feeling better than she has in weeks.

"You said that before," he reminds her, not unkindly. There's a pointed note to his words, and Natsu looks almost afraid as he locks eyes with her, pinning her in place with a single look. Natsu looks at her like she might fall apart, like she's strong for staying in one piece. But she isn't strong, not really.

Wincing, Lucy starts to pull away, feeling like she's just been slapped. There's a sting that comes with his words, a reminder that she lied to him once, even if it wasn't intentional. "I did, didn't I," she murmurs back, shifting her gaze from his and beginning to curl in on herself.

Natsu doesn't let her go far.

He catches her hand before she can pull away, keeping her pressed against his cheek even as her other hand falls back to her lap, looking small and pale against the dark blanket tossed over her lower half, her legs dangling off the side of the bed. He squeezes her fingers, eyes apologetic. "Lucy," he murmurs, "I didn't mean that."

"It's okay," she tells him, thumb sweeping across his cheek reassuringly. Though it smarts, Lucy knows she has more to apologize for than he does. She lied to him for weeks, hiding things like she didn't trust him. But she does, more than she trusts herself sometimes. "I probably deserved it," she tries to joke, but it falls flat, neither of them finding the humor to her words.

Natsu shakes his head, looking up at her sadly. "You didn't," he replies, thumb rubbing over her knuckles as his hand slides up, fingers tangling with hers. He winces, swallowing hard before wetting his lips. "You almost died, Lucy," he whispers to her, gaze heartbreaking when he looks at her. "Your freewill was bent against you and you almost died for it." She winces and he shivers. "I won't make you feel bad for that," he promises.

"I should have tried harder," she argues, shaking her head slowly, wincing when she sees the hard look in his eyes. Lucy looks away from him, swallowing. Her free hand fists in her lap, her nails digging into her palm.

She should have fought. That's what Natsu would have done. He was fighting that collar every time he wore it, determined not to let in consume him, even though it inevitably would. He fought, and Lucy just let it worm its way into her bones, controlling her from the inside out, allowing it to kill her slowly.

As if hearing her thoughts, Natsu stands suddenly, looming over her for a moment before dropping onto the bed beside her, a knee pressed against her outer thigh "Hey," he coos, reaching out for her gently, hands coming up to cup her face, gently coaxing her to look at him. "If it wasn't my fault," Natsu tells her sternly, green eyes hard, "it wasn't yours either."

Shaking her head, Lucy frowns back at him. "That's different," she argues. Her lips press into a sad, ashamed line. "You weren't trying to hurt me," she reminds him. Her exhale is a soft, quivering sound, Lucy wincing as she thinks about the difference between them.

Natsu looked at his hands like he was disgusted with himself after they first met, like he couldn't believe what he did to her, the bruises on her skin matching the shapes of his fingers, a piece of him imprinted on her skin for weeks before they faded to nothing. Natsu looked at himself like he was a monster, like he hated what he did, what he was forced to do. He admitted to her that he never wanted to hurt her, that it was the King and his collars, turning young men into soldiers and turning soldiers into monsters.

All Lucy's done is lie, to herself and him, pretending she was okay when she wasn't, hoping it would all go away, disappear like it was never really there. He fought and she just ignored the problem until it made her collapse, letting it eat away at her until her body couldn't take it. She hates herself for that, for letting him down. For letting _herself_ down.

"And you weren't trying to lie," he tells her, thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones and wiping away the tears she didn't know were falling, Lucy shaking slightly as she thinks about everything that's happened to them in such a short amount of time. She hadn't realized how tired she was, her bones aching with every move she makes. She wanted to tell him, wanted the pain to stop, but every time she tried the words were forced back down by a will that wasn't hers, a silent voice telling her to keep her mouth shut, to suffer through it and let herself be consumed.

Lucy blinks back at him, searching his expression as Natsu continues to dry her tears, trying to smile for her. His grin only highlights the bags under his eyes, like ink staining his skin. He hasn't been sleeping, she knows. He's always restless beside her at night, pacing in the dark, so quiet she wouldn't notice if not for the cold chill against her back where he previously was. Lucy's sure he hasn't been eating either, though it's less obvious. She's worried about him, more than she'd care to admit.

"And what if I was?" she asks, gaze dropping to her lap. At first she was lying. That very first day she lied when he asked if she was hurt elsewhere, if he did anything else. That wasn't compulsion magic, not then, that was Lucy lying. Self-preservation only remains a reason for so long. She had time to tell him when she first noticed what was happening, but she kept her mouth shut. Even after she started to care about him, she kept her mouth shut.

He shakes his head, curling his arms around her tightly and burying his face against her hair, wrapping her up in his arms. "You were scared," he murmurs, breathing in her scent and sighing, nuzzling her exposed ear. Her own arms come around him, Lucy's fingers clinging to his bare back as he traces a pattern across her spine, a familiar shape.

His rune, she realizes a moment later, swallowing thickly as she rests her head against his shoulder. He's been drawing it on her every time he's touched her, offering her protection from harm, as if his old Gods might keep her safe. Natsu continues to trace the shape against her back, fingertips warming her through her shirt, his touch firm as he cradles her against him, nosing at her when she doesn't respond.

"That's not an excuse," she murmurs back, voice thick with emotion. Her words quiver, Lucy releasing a shaky breath, and Natsu presses his lips against the side of her head, soothing her gently. Lucy shakes her head, trying to pull away from him, ashamed of herself, but he doesn't let her go far, stroking her hair softly and making her still against him.

"No," he agrees after a long moment, "that's not an excuse." His grip only tightens, Natsu hushing her when she chokes on a sob. "But you weren't trying to hurt me either."

Hiccupping, Lucy clings to his back, curling closer against his chest, shocked by the startling differences between them physically. She's become sickly, pale and thinner than she once was, having lost weight when Magi was bleeding her out, and her hands shake when she isn't holding onto something. Lucy quivers against his chest, squeezing her eyes shut tightly and burying her face against his neck. "I'm sorry," she whispers against his skin.

Natsu only quiets her again, rocking the two of them and murmuring nonsense into her ear, silly things that make her giggle and prayers in a language she doesn't understand. He calls her his stars, something she remembers him saying days ago, when she first woke. There's an apology mixed in with his words, and Natsu promises to protect her as he presses his lips against her forehead, tucking her under his chin a moment later.

It's the most they've touched each other since she told him about her dream.

 _Lucy stared up at the ceiling, counting water-stains absentmindedly. Beside her, Natsu sat tracing shapes on the inside of her wrist, tickling her skin as he told her stories about Igneel, some funny, some sad, some that made her think. Lucy listened quietly, lulled by the timbre of his voice, Natsu speaking quietly so as not to disturb the other residents of the house, Magi and Katya asleep upstairs. Footsteps padded softly across the floor above them, someone awake so late in the night. The floor creaked, loud and long and Lucy sighed, exhausted but not wanting to sleep, afraid of the shadows lurking in her thoughts, afraid that maybe it wasn't simply a dream._

 _Natsu noticed her silence, releasing her wrist and sitting up on his elbows to peer down at her, a slight frown on his lips, his brow furrowed in concern. He stared down at her curiously, but didn't ask, waiting for her to speak when she was ready, knowing Lucy was having a hard time talking about what happened._

 _Swallowing, Lucy looked away from him, glancing sideways to stare at the open door and the shadows beyond, watching them creep closer and closer until they were on top of her, warming her and swallowing her whole, consuming her from the inside out. Her skin began to burn, Lucy feeling something move beneath her skin, her arm pulsing in thin lines of pain, dull at first, but then harder, faster, until Lucy could hardly breathe it was so horrible. Her head swam, her vision blurring, and she trembled, a soft sound spilling passed her lips. The pain grew and grew until she could barely take it anymore._

 _Natsu lashed out suddenly, inhaling sharply as his strong fingers curled around her wrist, gently guiding her hand from her arm, the skin red and raw from her scratching. She winced, staring down at the red marks lining her skin, neat rows crossed haphazardly. It didn't bleed, only stung, but it was enough to remind Lucy of what she felt before. She almost felt empty without the constant ache, feeling nothing at all._

 _He dropped back down beside her, rolling onto his side to face her, gently brushing her bangs away from her eyes as he stared down at her, imploring and melancholy, gaze flicking between her face and her abused arm, worry clear in his eyes. His throat bobbed with a hard swallow, but still he didn't speak, didn't force her to talk if she didn't want to. He was good at that, waiting for her to speak, not wanting to push her too hard, knowing what it was like to be forced into something._

 _His thumb began drawing shapes against the thin skin of her wrist, so light she barely felt it, and Lucy sucked in a shuddery breath before speaking._

" _I had a dream when I was…" she trailed off, not wanting to finish. Her words gained his rapt attention, Natsu frowning as he stared down at her, waiting for her to continue, brows furrowing when she didn't. Lucy was too lost in her thoughts to notice his confusion, her mind filled with foggy, violent images that could never be real. She couldn't understand why she would dream of something so horrific. Was it the magic? Her own fears? A warning? She didn't think she wanted to know, lest it make the dream worse, if that were possible. Lucy could never imagine something more terrifying than what she saw in her own head._

 _A warm thumb traced the curve of her jaw, Natsu watching her in concern, the red lines on her arm a violent shade against her pale skin. He winced at the sight, slowly shifting his gaze from her right wrist to her left, his fingers gently ghosting the small scars on her upper arm, feeling the bumps beneath his fingers._

" _What did you dream?" he finally asked, seeming content to listen, more concerned with protecting her from the claws on her own hands than the ones in her head, not knowing how to fight those. His thumb stroked the length of her arm, coaxing an answer from her._

 _Memories of gore and bloody teeth surface in her mind, a snarl looming inches from her face, skin splattered with blood and bone and sweat. The air smelled of violence in her dream, a heaviness to the air, something cold chilling her to the bone, and screaming echoing in her ears—her own screams. "I dreamed I was being ripped apart," she told him a moment later, rolling onto her side and tucking herself tight against him, sighing when he wound an arm around her, pulling her tight to his chest, almost afraid to let go. His hand ran up her back, fingers tickling her spine, and she shivered, curling closer to him, ignoring the panic seizing her._

 _He frowned, but didn't pull away from her, giving her a slight squeeze when he felt her shaking against him, her breaths coming too quickly, Lucy's heart beginning to race as she remembered the monster in her dream, a familiar face staring down at her as she bled out on the sand._

" _By what?" he murmured back, holding her tighter, her tears dripping onto his bare chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to think of the dream, still horrified by what she saw, Lucy afraid that it could someday come to pass, despite knowing it never could._

 _Natsu nuzzled her jaw, silently urging her to tell him, wanting to help but not knowing how. His breath fanned across her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut, taking a slow, deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come, knowing it would only make things worse, but also that it needed to be said._

" _You," she told him quietly._

Things were strange between them after that, Natsu afraid to touch her, and Lucy confused and frustrated about her dream, not knowing what to make of it, what it could possibly mean. Dreams aren't just dreams for Faebornes. They always mean something, a piece to a puzzle or the answer to a question that hasn't been asked yet. Supposedly, there are those that can see premonitions from their dreams, but Lucy never believed that, thinking the rumors false.

She prays her dream doesn't come to pass, knowing it would break both of them in ways they could never be repaired, both too damaged to be put back together.

Natsu pulls away from her after a moment, leaning back to meet her gaze, eyes trailing over her frame slowly, taking in every inch of her, searching for any signs of discomfort in her expression. His hands trail down her arms, hovering just above her skin, unsure if he should touch her again. "Are you sure you wanna leave?" he asks her, concerned.

She sighs, shoulders drooping slightly as she looks up at him. "Natsu…" she trails off, unsure what to say that she hasn't already. They've had this conversation several times in the last few days, Lucy wanting to leave and Natsu wanting her to rest. She's starkly reminded of their time in Jorah, only then it was her trying to make him stay.

She figures that must mean something.

"I know," he murmurs, sighing and shaking his head. He looks back up at her, smiling slightly, though his expression is tense, concerned. "I know, you wanna go home," he speaks her thoughts, "but do you think you can handle it?" He isn't asking to be rude, she knows, he just wants to make sure she'll be all right.

Lucy sends him a wry smile that doesn't begin to reach her eyes, her expression blank and slightly bitter as she replies. "I was handling it before," she reminds him. She managed to keep walking for two months after being infected with dark magic. Lucy thinks she could do anything now.

He considers this, mouth pressed into an unamused line. "Lucy," he sighs, staring at her sadly.

She curls in on herself, deflating slightly. "I just want to go home, Natsu," she whispers, half-pleading with him. Lucy doesn't meet his eyes, staring at her knees as her arms come around to wrap around her torso, Lucy holding herself comfortingly. "I don't want to be here anymore," Lucy tells him, her gaze heavy and heartrending when she finally looks back up at him.

Natsu softens, reaching out to brush her hair away from her eyes, cupping her cheek with one hand, fingers stroking her skin slowly. "Are you sure?" he asks, softer than before. "We can wait another few days," he reminds her. Natsu swallows, looking at her almost nervously, worried about what could happen to her if they started traveling too soon. She's still weak from the blood loss, her body slowly catching up.

"I was supposed to be home weeks ago," Lucy reminds him, curling in on herself slightly, trying to make herself smaller. She shrinks away, Natsu wincing when she glances up at him. "I don't want them to worry anymore." She's been gone for too long already, and she knows they must be hurting more than she is right now.

His lips press into a thin line as he considers her, gaze tracing her slowly, Natsu quick to check for any discomfort in her features. She holds his gaze, determined, and eventually he sighs, backing down, though his expression only tightens. "If you feel sick," he starts, a low growl edging the words, "tell me. Don't hide it, not from me."

She nearly flinches at the request, knowing it's going to take them some time to get back to where they were before. They're a bit bruised now, but it will heal in time, the two of them mending each other. "I won't," she promises, holding out her hand for him to take, smiling at him softly. "I'll tell you if anything happens." And she means it. She wants him to trust her, Gods know she trusts him more than she's trusted herself in the last weeks. Lucy likes knowing she has someone to rely on.

Natsu stands slowly, pulling her up with him and keeping an arm looped around her back, holding her up against him, Lucy still wobbly on her feet. She curls her fingers against his back, her cool skin warning against his. Smiling down at her, Natsu reaches around Lucy to grab her bag off the bed, handing it to her gently before shifting away from her to grab her bow from where it rests against the wall. He keeps one hand on her waist as he stretches to reach it, not going far from Lucy's side.

Lucy knows he's positively giddy to be on the move again, his excitement clear in his bright eyes. He was only picking a fight because of her, putting her above his restless nature. She appreciates that, but her own restlessness has grown as well, Lucy not enjoying being bedbound for nearly two weeks. It's been frustrating, not feeling like herself. At first, she was simply too weak to move, too tired, but then she grew more awake, her body unable to keep up. She hated it, more than she ever hated anything before.

The bow is pressed gently into her hands, cool, dark wood smooth against her palms, familiar. Lucy traces her thumb along the curve, smiling fondly. It's saved her more times than she ever would have thought. Makarov would be proud of his work, knowing that he could protect her even when he wasn't there. She sighs, looking up into Natsu's eyes and watching him shift nervously for a moment.

"I have something for you," he tells her gently, wetting his lips as he glances at the open door behind her, checking to make sure they're alone. Lucy frowns, staring up at him, confused. He flashes a small smile, then turns to the nightstand beside the bed, pulling open the top drawer and taking out a parcel wrapped in a brightly colored cloth, the rich red looking fiery in the morning light spilling into the room. "I was looking for someone to fix it," he admits, handing the object to her, Lucy taking it gingerly, frowning as she looks up at him. "I knew it mattered to you, and I didn't know how to fix it." Natsu's hands settle on her shoulders, barely touching her as he urges her to open the package, to see what's inside.

She hesitates only a moment before slowly unraveling the cloth, letting it slip to the floor softly. Lucy gasps, her eyes going wide when she sees what it is. The knife slips from her fingers, nearly clattering to the ground, but Natsu manages to catch it, deft fingers curing around the sharp blade, Natsu careful not to cut himself.

It's the knife she broke when they first met, the one she left behind, forgotten during their journey. She'd barely thought about it since they ran, her disappointment shoved to the back of her mind, Lucy knowing a broken knife wasn't worth mourning, not then.

Swallowing, Natsu clears his throat softly, hesitantly meeting her eyes as he traces the blade with his thumb, the rosy blade the same shade as his hair. He sends her a crooked grin, pressing the blade back into her hands, gently curling her fingers around the hilt, trapping the knife between their hands. "It took him hours to mend the break," he continues. "That's why I was late." Lucy looks up at him in shock, but Natsu doesn't appear to notice. He simply stares down at the knife locked between their fingers, thumb brushing against her skin fondly. "I know I should have been there, but I hope this makes up for it."

Her breath quivers as she stares down at the knife, unsure what to do. Her eyes grow wet, Lucy struggling not to let her tears spill over, not wanting to upset him. Her own gift, shoved into the bottom of her bag, seems almost silly compared to this, and her lip trembles at the thought. "Natsu," she chokes out, hands shaking against his.

Hands come up to cradle her jaw, Natsu gently lifting her face to meet her eyes, his expression soft as he stares down at her. "I'm sorry," he tells her, wiping away a tear that slips down her cheek, "that I broke it." She laughs, shaking her head slowly. She doesn't care about that, not even a little. All that matters is that they're alive and smiling, almost home. "I won't do it again, Mae Strakaz," he promises, leaning in until his forehead is pressed against hers, the heat of him surrounding her like a blanket.

Lucy wets her lips, curling her free arm around his back and pulling herself closer against his chest, his breath fanning across her face. "How did you…" the question trails off as Natsu's big hands settle on her waist, fingers tracing up her sides slowly.

"I took it," he murmurs back, shifting to press his lips against her temple. Her eyes squeeze shut, Lucy sighing as she leans into his touch, more relaxed than she has been in days. "When we were leaving that first day, I saw it on the ground and knew I needed to take it with me." He noses at her hair, lips skimming her ear when he speaks. "It saved my life once," he tells her, "when I was fighting that Berserk in Pergrande."

She nods in understanding, not needing him to explain. She's just glad he's alive, that he's next to her. "Thank you," she breathes against his throat, unsure what for, but knowing she needs to say it. "Thank you," she repeats, twisting her head to press her lips against his jaw, feeling the muscles there jump at the light touch.

Lucy gives him a tight squeeze, curling closer, trying to bury herself in his ribcage.

* * *

 **AN: As previously stated, I should be catching up with the rewrite by around Friday next week, so new chapters will be starting soon.**

 **Glossary of Gods/Terms/Creatures:**

 **Djehl:** Fire God from the northlands that granted the Berserks their strength/inner fire. His battle axe is called Bran.  
 **Djerda:** Goddess of night and the mother of Djehl.  
 **Estra:** Sister of Djehl and Daughter of Djerda. Goddess of the Stars. pulled the stars from the sky and gave them life, proving her devotion to Ieyar, a chaos god, and creating the Fae, their magic gifted to them by Ieyar.  
 **Ieyar:** God of Chaos. Gifted the Fae their magic after Estra pulled the stars from the sky for him.  
 **Ashtacar:** Berserker word meaning "safe travels." Traditionally used between friends and family, it has since become a way to honor the dead, granting them "safe travels" on their way to the next life.  
 **Ulfræder:** Berserk word for "blood traitor." It's a relatively heavy insult. Being a "blood traitor" is an unforgivable act.  
 **Descæter:** Berserk word for "deserter." Follows the same vein of Ulfræder, but is less insulting. Blood traitors abandon their homes and families, white a deserter abandons their post/army position.  
 **Velsigna av Branna:** Berserk word for "blessed by fire." As Vesigna means "to bless." "Branna" comes from "Bran (Braun)" an old word for fire, and the name of the God Djehl's battle axe.  
 **Velsigna av Strakaz:** "Blessed by Stars" From "Estra," a Berserk Goddess of the night sky, daughter of Djerda, Goddess of night, and sister to Djehl. Term for Faeborne and a reference to their scent.

 **Ellyra** [El-eye-rah]: Formal name of the fairy trees. Rumored to house the souls of slain Fae within their trunks. The trees are semi-sentient, and can speak, though only to those who they want to hear. The trees are tall, with pale colored bark (white, to a light grey as the trees grow old) and red leaves. The trees bleed red sap, and in the Northlands they are commonly called Azgetta meaning "the bleeding" or alternatively "the weeping."


	34. Chapter 34

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/24/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Thirty Four**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

The Fiore border looms in front of them, more threatening than anything else she's ever known, not the quiet border to home that she's always considered it to be in the past. Lucy's taken to dragging her feet, all of her excitement from days earlier bleeding from her slowly, each step more painful than the last. Natsu either doesn't notice or assumes she's simply tired, slowing to match her pace, his side pressing to hers every few moments, silently asking if she's okay, is she's hurting or needs to rest. She doesn't. Lucy's fine, better than she has been in weeks, but the real reasons she's hesitating aren't something she wants to think about, preferring to bury them away. She's afraid of the answer, but knows there's only so much time left to ask.

It's a scary thought, that he could leave just as easily as he came, disappearing without a word, off to somewhere unknown, searching for something better than Ishgar, somewhere far away where Pergrande can't reach him. She wouldn't blame him for leaving, but she would miss him, perhaps more than she's ever missed anyone else.

With her family, she's always known where to find them, knowing they'll be there waiting for her, arms open with smiles on their faces. They wouldn't disappear on her, not without a goodbye, and they'd always come home, even if it took years for them to do so. She has faith in her family, knowing they'd always be there when she needed them. They'd fight for her, and she would do the same for them.

Natsu is a closed book to her. He was there so suddenly, engraving himself into her life and her heart, becoming someone that mattered to her so quickly. It felt right, meeting him, keeping him close. He's been by her side everyday for weeks, a constant presence that makes her feel more safe than anything else ever could. There's something special about him, something fierce but so gentle it almost hurts.

It's strange, how she can barely picture her life without him now, knowing she'd feel hollow inside, a small piece of her missing, lost. Lucy knows that something wouldn't feel right about him not being there. She also knows she doesn't have the right to ask him to stay.

A fist clenches around her throat, Lucy feeling dread curl high in her chest, her stomach twisting sickly. She bites her lip, curling her arms around herself gently, nails biting into her skin. She doesn't want him to go, she knows that much. The thought pains her in a way she never thought possible. They aren't strangers anymore, they haven't been for a long time, and Lucy knows she would never be able to just let him walk away, never to be seen by her again.

Fiore isn't safe for him, none of Ishgar is, but her chest aches when she thinks about him disappearing, losing him forever. A bitter taste floods her mouth, Lucy swallowing it back. The question sticks in her throat, and she worries her bottom lip. Her thoughts drift away from her, a small sigh slipping from her nose

When he nearly died in Mithriel she thought a part of her would break, and she knew she would never be the same if he was killed there. She would never forgive herself if he died for her, not after everything they've gone through. He deserves better than that, and she would do anything to give him a life he deserved, something better than what he's been dealt in the past.

Releasing a shaky breath, Lucy bites her lower lip so hard that it begins to bleed, a small drop of blood slipping down her lips and rolling to her chin. Natsu stiffens beside her, lurching to a stop, and when she turns, confused, his palm settles against her throat. She stills, holding back a gasp, sudden panic welling in her throat. Lucy chokes on air, eyes widening, but he merely wipes the blood from her chin, green eyes locking with hers, his gaze burning, molten and consuming, and she shivers against him.

He nearly rips away from her neck, knowing that she's grown fearful of people touching her there, but something in her eyes must make him stay, his touch only growing firmer against her. Lucy leans into his hand, pressing her cheek into his thumb, letting him know it's okay that he's touching her. She isn't afraid of him. She never has been, not since they first met.

He slowly relaxes against her, leaning into her, his palm firm but gentle against her throat, testing the waters. She doesn't pull away, only smiles up at him. His fingers trace the thin skin of her throat and she shivers again, stepping closer to his chest.

"Are you okay?" he asks her gently, brushing her hair away from her face with his free hand, tucking a strand behind her ear, letting his fingers ghost across her skin. It pulls another tremor from her, Lucy inhaling sharply for a moment, her eyes widening. He does it a second time, seeming to grow bolder with every small move she makes. His hands grow hot against her, sweltering despite the chilly air, and her throat grows dry.

Slowly, Lucy nods, swallowing thickly as his fingers stroke against her skin, almost teasing. "I'm fine," she tells him, heart stuttering in her chest. Something sharp flickers in his eyes, carnal, and he freezes. His breath grows labored, his other hand slipping down to her chin, wiping away the shimmer of blood on her skin, ghosting her lips.

"Lucy," he murmurs, drinking in her features slowly, searching her gaze for any hint of a lie. He swallows, so overwhelmingly close that she can see his throat bob with the motion, and his breath fans over her face, Natsu close, but not close enough. One hand slides lower, slipping down her side and beneath her jacket, pressing firm against her back, dragging her in tight against him.

She inhales sharply, her chest grazing his slightly. "I promise," she whispers back, peeking up at him through her lashes, worrying her lip gently. His eyes follow the motion, a sound so low spilling from his throat that Lucy almost thinks she's imagined it. "I won't lie to you again." She swears it, her fingertips lightly grazing his sides, Lucy unsure where to put her hands.

He shuffles in closer and she places her palms flat against his sides, just above his armor. Natsu exhales sharply, sighing, and she feels his ribs moving beneath her hands, corded muscle taut, small scars littering his skin. "I know," he breaths back, thumb sweeping across her cheek apologetically. "I'm just…" He glances away from her, leaving the sentence hanging between them.

"I know you are," Lucy responds, smiling up at him. She squeezes his sides, feeling his heart hammering below his ribs, strong and steady, a constant beat. "So am I," she admits to him, the pads of her fingers tracing circles against his skin. She almost watched him die, and she's beginning to realize how much the thought hurts her heart, how much it would destroy her to watch him bleed out in the snow.

Natsu only chuckles, a cocky grin on his face when he leans in to bump his nose against hers, almost teasing. "Don't worry about me," he tells her, huffing slightly, mock-offense creeping onto his face. His eyes glint with amusement—happiness, and she knows he's only messing with her, something he's grown fond of since they've known each other.

"Hypocrite," she teases back, giggling when Natsu playfully snarls at her, baring his teeth and pretending to look threatening. He knows he doesn't scare her, not even after her dream. She knows little of Fae dreams, but Lucy knows him. He wouldn't hurt her as much as she would never hurt him. For a while, she was afraid he would shy away from her after she told him, but he never went far, only hesitating for a few days before returning to her, the walls around them tumbling down faster than before.

Something's changing between them, and it sends a little thrill through Lucy, her bones humming with the thought.

He laughs with her, fingers edging down, playing with the hem of her shirt, ghosting her bare skin and making her shiver. Lucy presses into his touch, letting him know that he isn't pushing boundaries. She trusts him, at times more than she thinks she can trust herself. "There are worse things," he murmurs against her ear, pressing his hand flush against her spine. "I could be a monster," Natsu reminds her, a low rumble, voice quiet against her ear.

Lucy shakes her head, pressing her cold nose against his jaw. "You could never be a monster," she promises him, fingers biting into his ribs.

He stiffens, lips parting slightly as her words register. His eyes go wide, his breath catching in his throat, and she only smiles, wrapping her arms tightly around him. The embrace only lasts a moment, Lucy pulling away when her thoughts come back to swallow her whole, her breath catching when she remembers they may not have much time left together.

Meeting his eyes, Lucy hesitates only a moment before asking the question that's been on her mind for days now. "Will you stay?" she murmurs, taking a half-step back, fingers drumming against his sides gently, nails tinkling against his armor, gentle taps filling the air, keeping them from lapsing into total silence.

Natsu's eyes narrow in confusion. "What?" he replies, leaning into her slightly, as if he didn't hear her correctly. His hands slip down to her waist, squeezing her gently, and Lucy gains some confidence from his reaction, realizing he isn't pushing her away. No, Natsu pulls her closer, until their breaths are mingling, the two of them so close they may as well be one.

"In Fiore," she clarifies, smiling when Natsu brushes away a strand of hair sticking to her lips. "Will you stay?" she asks again, looking up at him, hope surging in her chest. He's looking down at her like he wants to say yes, like he wants to promise to stay with her, but she has to make sure, not wanting to over think things.

Natsu wets his lips, squeezing her hip gently before his hand slips around to her back, palm warm against her, chasing away the chilly air as he pulls her close to him. "Do you want me to stay?" he questions in return, nervous gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. All it would take was a slight shift from one of them, the slightest dip of his chin or Lucy pressing up on her toes, that's all it would take to have them pressed together in a more intimate way.

"I…" she can't finish her sentence, the words catching in her throat, Lucy surrounded by the scent of him. Absently, she wonders what his lips might taste like. She inhales sharply, growing dizzy with the scent of him, something spicy that tickles her senses.

His breath fans across her lips, making her shiver against him, his arms solid around her back, holding her close as he pulls her in. "Lucy," he whispers against her, nose brushing hers gently, "do you want me to stay?" He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze intense as he stares down at her, something like hope shinning in his deep, dark eyes. They threaten to consume her, Lucy entranced by those eyes.

"Yes," she tells him, nodding slowly. She can hear her heart pounding in her chest, Lucy sure that he can hear it too. Briefly, she wonders if she should be embarrassed with her directness, but she doesn't have the heart to regret asking. Besides, she promised she wouldn't lie again, not to him.

And Gods does she want him to stay.

Natsu huffs out a little laugh, shoulders shaking as he locks eyes with her, lips twisting into a large smile, Natsu happier than she's ever seen him. "Good," he tells her, chuckling. He bumps his nose against hers playfully, giving her a tight squeeze around the waist. "I'm tired of running," he admits softly, lips brushing her ear.

Lucy's own arms come to wrap around him, holding him back just as tight. She smiles against his shoulder, relieved. "I think you'll like Magnolia," she tells him, nosing at his warm skin. "It's decent sized, but the people are nice." They'll just have to learn to accept him, because she won't tolerate people shunning him for what he is. She won't allow it.

"I'm sure I'll love it," he tells her, chuckling.

She's about to respond in kind when she suddenly notices his bare chest pressed against her, Lucy's eyes widening when she remembers something. Her head has been so foggy since what happened in Narja, she's been forgetting things. She hopes it's merely a result of her fatigue, and not something worse.

Taking a step back, Lucy pulls out of his arms, not noticing the slightly hurt expression on his face, Natsu confused by her sudden shift in mood. Lucy yanks her bag off her shoulder, reaching inside and praying it won't be difficult today. She feels around, searching for something special, something she was supposed to give him days ago, but forgot about, her head cloudy, muddled.

She finally removes it from her bag, the large jar heavy in her hands, clear glass looking a deep blue, the color from inside displayed through the smooth surface. She smiles up at Natsu, holding it out for him to see, and watches his eyes go wide, his breath catching in his throat. "I found a store selling it back in Narja," she tells him hurriedly, cradling the jar in her arms carefully, knowing its worth to him. "Almost forgot about it," she admits, flushing slightly.

He reaches out, hesitating slightly, his fingers ghosting the glass. "This is…" He can't finish, shaking his head in disbelief, and Lucy's skin prickles with worry, afraid she's done something she shouldn't have. He glances rapidly between her and the jaw, lips parted in surprise. His hand curls around her wrist, grip tighter than usual, and she looks away, wincing slightly.

"I wasn't sure what color to buy," she explains hurriedly, a nervous lilt to her voice. "I remember you had blue before," she tells him, wetting her lips slightly. It was faint when she first saw him, but she still remembers a slash of blue against the red and gold, the subtle mark on his chest more outstanding than the flashy colors of Pergrande. "But I wasn't sure if that was a requirement or—" She's babbling, she knows, but she can't help it.

Natsu shakes his head slowly, green eyes blown wide, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow. "Lucy," he breathes, shaking hands coming up to curl around her elbows, pulling her closer to him as she continues to speak, nonsense spilling from her as she panics.

She swallows, finger tracing small circles against the jar before they begin to drum against the side, soft tinkle sounding all too loud between them. "I know you said you didn't need to wear it," Lucy admits, "but I just thought—"

"Lucy," he whispers again, slightly louder than before, almost frantic as he grips at her arms. His fingers bite into her skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough for her to feel the pressure on her skin, Natsu staring at her with wide eyes.

She doesn't hear him, her gaze dropping to the ground as she begins to think she's made a mistake. She doesn't know Berserk customs, doesn't know if the paint is sacred or if a specific kind is used. Lucy should have asked him first, should have made sure this was okay, but she didn't want to ruin the surprise by giving him a hint. "Was this insensitive of me?" she asks, glancing down at the knife at her side, the one he returned to her. He carried that around for weeks, knowing just what to give her, and she made a split-second decision, not thinking before she'd already grabbed the jar and paid for it. "I probably should have asked first, but I—"

Yelping, Lucy is yanked against his chest, Natsu crushing her against him, his arms wrapping around her tightly, one hand pressed to her spine as the other cradles the back of her head, gently resting her against him. The jar nearly slips through her fingers, but she catches it before it can drop, the jar of paint pinned between their bodies as Natsu curls around her almost protectively.

He laughs, fingers tangling through her wild hair, cradling her against his chest. "You're amazing, you know that?" he murmurs, smiling against her hair, giving her a tight squeeze. Slowly, she relaxes into his embrace, one arm wrapping around his waist, the other clutching the jar close to her stomach, careful to keep it from falling.

"It was nothing," she murmurs back, flustered with his praise. It's not the words that make her pause, but the casual way he says them, as if it's simply a fact. It makes her feel warm, lighter than before, and she relaxes against him. Lucy sighs through her nose, resting her head against his collarbone, listening to the sound of his heart.

He shakes his head, pulling away from her to laugh, smiling down at her. "Maybe to you," he tells her, something unfamiliar thick in his voice. "But I—" He cuts off just as suddenly as he starts, shaking his head. "Thank you," he says instead, pressing his forehead to hers gently, only for a moment before he pulls back.

Natsu steps away from her, but doesn't go far. Gently, he takes the jar from her hands, cradling it as he unscrews the top. The thick scent of paint fills the air around them, tickling her nose, and Natsu smiles as he dips a finger into the pain, the digit coming away a pale blue, the color stark against the red of him. Natsu sets the jar down, careful not to spill any of the paint, and Lucy is shocked when he reaches for her instead of himself, Natsu pulling her in close, grip loose on her wrist.

She watches with bated breath as Natsu trails finger down the smooth skin of her wrist, her pulse racing beneath his touch. He holds her steady, Lucy unable to speak as Natsu lowers his paint covered finger to her skin. His touch is cool and wet, Lucy shivering as he traces a pattern against her skin, marking her.

He draws the symbol against her skin with practiced ease, two strokes of his finger and then he's done. Her skin burns where he touches her, Natsu drawing a small "v" against her wrist, and then a line running parallel down her arm, creating a third prong to the symbol. It stretches nearly halfway down her forearm, bold against her pale skin, the same color as the veins on her wrists.

It's not the first time he's drawn Algiz against her skin, but it's the most permanent, more than just a soft touch. She can see it on her skin now, as can anyone else, and she knows that must mean something to him. Only Berserks wear the symbols, not anyone else. It makes her feel special, in a way, at least to him. She just wishes she knew what it meant.

Slowly, he raises her arm, breeze sending a chill down her spine as it tickles the rapidly drying paint of her wrist. He keeps his gaze locked on hers as he lifts her arm to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to her skin just beside the symbol he's painted on her. He lingers, rough lips scrapping against her skin, watching her, gauging her reaction to his touch.

Lucy merely watches him, shocked by how bold he's being. Natsu's breath fans across her skin, warming her, and she sighs as he chases away the cold. He takes a half-step closer, cradling her arm close to his chest, and Lucy simply stares, fascinated, as he begins to move.

His lips trail across her skin slowly, Natsu working his way from her wrist down to her elbow, ghosting his mouth along her skin hardly touching her at times. His eyes search hers for discomfort—resistance, but Lucy has none. There's a nervous flicker in his eyes as he peppers butterfly kisses across her skin, careful not to smudge the paint on her arm.

His mouth comes back to her wrist, Natsu pressing a soft kiss against her palm before working his way back down once again. Shivering, Lucy holds his gaze, lips parted, a soft sigh slipping from her mouth when his lips tickle her skin. He stiffens at the sound, inhaling sharply, but doesn't stop, his mouth pressing against her firmer, lips lingering longer.

A kiss is pressed against the inside of her elbow, and Lucy gives a breathless laugh, squirming as he tickles her. Natsu only smiles, nosing at her skin briefly before replacing the touch with another kiss. Lucy holds her tongue, wanting to ask a thousand questions, but afraid to ruin what's happening between them, not wanting him to stop.

Slowly, he loops her arm around his neck, Lucy's arm curled around him lazily as his hands settle on her hips, pulling her tighter against him until their breath is mingling, Natsu closer than he's ever been before. The mark on her wrist presses against the back of his neck, her fingers weaving through his hair, and Natsu sighs. His arms curl around her tightly, but loose enough to allow her to pull away should she want to.

But she doesn't, want to, that is. She doesn't think she ever could want to leave this, not with him holding her the way he is. She feels safe here, comfortable, and she thinks she could stay here for hours.

Natsu stares down at her, gaze flicking to her lips briefly before coming back up. She nods, swallowing, and Natsu releases a relieved breath, practically sighing. Lucy waits, her fingers tangling in his hair as he squeezes her waist. He leans back in suddenly, chin dipping as his gaze flickers to her lips, causing Lucy's breath to catch.

Natsu surprises her by kissing her shoulder, nuzzling the scars on her arm where his teeth broke through her skin, tearing through flesh and muscle until he nearly reached the bone. She stiffens against him, his breath ghosting over her just as it had the first time they met, Natsu hesitating, considering his options. Ultimately, he decides to press his mouth to her skin, pressing several soft, lingering kisses against her damaged skin, peppering the old wounds, as if he could turn back time and take the pain away.

His teeth graze her skin suddenly and she gasps, not expecting it. Natsu freezes, concerned, but relaxes again when she leans into him, tugging gently at his hair and sighing happily. Natsu drags his teeth against her shoulder once more, just enough for her to feel it, and she shivers, murmuring his name before she can stop herself.

He pauses again, pressing his mouth against the stitches in her arm, ghosting his lips across the line on her arm, gentle as he noses her. He continues like that for a long moment, pressing his lips against her skin in random intervals, sometimes quick, several placed in rapid succession. Others linger, long and slow and sweet, Lucy's skin growing more sensitive with each touch. He never leaves her skin for long, always returning, only pulling back to look at her eyes, making sure she's okay, smiling back at him.

Natsu takes to nipping at her shoulder unexpectedly, more teeth than lips, and though it startles her at first, she quickly sinks into his touch, sighing happily as he trails back down her arm. He bites at the skin above the bend in her arm, Lucy yelping when his sharp teeth scrape across her skin, but she doesn't pull away. Lucy giggles suddenly, his apologetic kiss teasing her, and Natsu smiles in return, pulling away from her arm to press his forehead against hers.

Humming, Lucy's eyes slip shut, her fingers tugging at his hair gently and making Natsu growl low in his throat, the rumble echoing through his chest and into hers, sounding more like a purr than anything else. She bites back a laugh at the thought, arm slipping around his back as she pulls herself flush against him, reveling in his heat.

His own hands settle on her hips, thumbs tracing circles against her sides. His throat bobs with a hard swallow, Natsu wetting his lips as he hovers just over her mouth, unsure if he should dare lean in closer. He doesn't move for a long moment, and she squirms when his fingers patter against her sides, tickling her. His breath ghosts her skin, Lucy smiling up at him. Natsu sighs, his nose bumping against hers. She laughs, breathless, and he grins, leaning in to let his mouth trail across her cheek, working his way towards her mouth.

The trees around them are quiet, the Fiore forests calm, the Ellyra silent, watching with bated breath. Lucy's magic swirls around them, ruffling their hair, and Natsu chuckles, smiling against her skin. His breath is warm against her jaw as he trails soft, butterfly kisses from her ear to the corner of her mouth. Lucy leans into him, humming as he slowly peruses her skin, taking his time working his way to her mouth.

Her arm tightens around his neck, dragging him down as she presses up on her toes, pulling back to that she's eye level with him. Her heart hammers away beneath its bone cage, and a shaky sound leaves her. Lucy's fingers glide through the short hairs at the back of his neck, reveling in the feel, and Natsu lifts a hand to her arm. He unwinds her from his neck, holding her gaze as he presses a long, lingering kiss against the dried paint on her arm, his rough lips moving against her skin.

Natsu removes his lips from her arm after several heartbeats, but doesn't go far as he steps into her, easily looping her arms back around his neck, much to her amusement. He accidentally knocks his nose against hers, making her giggle, and Natsu growls at her playfully, baring his teeth. She bites her lip, shaking her head, and leans in to press their foreheads together, forcing herself higher on her toes as she leans into him, humming to herself.

One arm curls around her back, the other reaching for her face, Natsu gently caressing her cheek, his knuckles dragging slowly across her skin. He brushes her hair from her lips, tilting her chin slightly, and noses at her. She sighs, dragging him down to her, and Lucy can feel the heat of his breath fanning over her parted lips as she waits for him.

Their breaths mingle, chests rising and falling together, and Lucy shivers when his fingers slip beneath the hem of her shirt, his burning palm settling against her skin, his fingers tracing small shapes against her skin. Her fingers curl though his hair, Lucy urging him to lean down just a little, but he denies her, eyes searching her face, tracing her features as if trying to memorize her.

"Valkyr," he mumbles against her, the word whispered against her lips. She doesn't know what it means, but she doesn't need to ask. He says it with such admiration, voice soft and sweeter than anything she's ever heard, practically sighing it against her mouth. His thumb brushes across her bottom lip, teasing, and she turns to press a kiss against his skin, first his thumb and then his palm, Lucy curving into his touch.

She peeks up at him through her lashes and Natsu growls low in his throat, suddenly jerking her flush against him as he dips his chin. Her breath catches, and his is nervous against her face as his lips ghost against hers, so light she barely feels it.

There's a sudden thwack and Natsu throws her backwards, Lucy stumbling before hitting a tree. She hisses, confused, but her eyes widen when an arrow embeds itself in the tree trunk between them. Natsu whirls around, snarling at whoever's interrupted them, but Lucy stands frozen, gaze locked on the blue feathers on the end of the arrow, a deep, rich color. A familiar color.

Lucy whirls around to see Natsu charging at a Fioren Ranger, a cowl pulled low over their face as they step out of the shadows, a pair of knives twirling in their fingers. She knows those hands, those knives.

Jellal.

* * *

 **AN: As previously stated, I should be catching up with the rewrite by around Friday next week, so new chapters will be starting soon.**

 **Glossary of Gods/Terms/Creatures:**

 **Djehl:** Fire God from the northlands that granted the Berserks their strength/inner fire. His battle axe is called Bran.  
 **Djerda:** Goddess of night and the mother of Djehl.  
 **Estra:** Sister of Djehl and Daughter of Djerda. Goddess of the Stars. pulled the stars from the sky and gave them life, proving her devotion to Ieyar, a chaos god, and creating the Fae, their magic gifted to them by Ieyar.  
 **Ieyar:** God of Chaos. Gifted the Fae their magic after Estra pulled the stars from the sky for him.  
 **Ashtacar:** Berserker word meaning "safe travels." Traditionally used between friends and family, it has since become a way to honor the dead, granting them "safe travels" on their way to the next life.  
 **Ulfræder:** Berserk word for "blood traitor." It's a relatively heavy insult. Being a "blood traitor" is an unforgivable act.  
 **Descæter:** Berserk word for "deserter." Follows the same vein of Ulfræder, but is less insulting. Blood traitors abandon their homes and families, white a deserter abandons their post/army position.  
 **Velsigna av Branna:** Berserk word for "blessed by fire." As Vesigna means "to bless." "Branna" comes from "Bran (Braun)" an old word for fire, and the name of the God Djehl's battle axe.  
 **Velsigna av Strakaz:** "Blessed by Stars" From "Estra," a Berserk Goddess of the night sky, daughter of Djerda, Goddess of night, and sister to Djehl. Term for Faeborne and a reference to their scent.  
 **Mae Strakaz:** Literally "my stars."  
 **Valkyr:** An untranslatable word of admiration and love.

 **Ellyra** [El-eye-rah]: Formal name of the fairy trees. Rumored to house the souls of slain Fae within their trunks. The trees are semi-sentient, and can speak, though only to those who they want to hear. The trees are tall, with pale colored bark (white, to a light grey as the trees grow old) and red leaves. The trees bleed red sap, and in the Northlands they are commonly called Azgetta meaning "the bleeding" or alternatively "the weeping."


	35. Chapter 35

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/25/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Thirty Five**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Lucy can only watch in horror as Natsu bolts towards the tree line, murderous gaze locked on the ranger slinking out of the shadows, cloaked in earthy tones. It's no surprise they didn't notice him earlier. Fiore's Rangers have always been stealthy, practically ghosts. No one sees them until it's too late and there's no running away. She's never known them to attack like this before, however, and she's stunned unable to move as she watches Natsu rush towards the stranger, his teeth bared threateningly.

Only it isn't a stranger, it's Jellal. She can't see their face, but she knows. Those blue feathers leave no room for uncertainty. Jellal is the only one that uses blue feathers on his arrows, dying them carefully. It started as a joke, Laxus always used to call him a bluebird, the birds the same shade as Jellal's hair. Jellal never liked the name, but adopted it as his own eventually, turning the mocking joke into something powerful.

She stares at the ranger, so sure that it's her friend, but he doesn't even look her way, eyes on Natsu, and she's struck by the startling thought that he doesn't know it's her. All he sees is two strangers—and a Berserk at that. She'd forgotten how much people in Fiore despise people like Natsu, shoved it to the back of her mind and ignored it, hoping her family would be different. She was terrified of what they might do, but she wasn't expecting a reaction like this.

"Natsu!" she calls after him, hoping to gain his attention. "Natsu, stop!" He doesn't hear her, Lucy's voice lost to the wind whipping around her, her own magic stealing away her voice. Hissing in frustration, she struggles to her feet, her sore arm wobbling beneath her, still stiff from being bled out days earlier. She ignores the linger twinges of pain, knowing there are more important things to focus on, and shoves herself upwards, biting back a wince.

Her eyes widen in horror as she realizes she's too late. Jellal rushes forward, cowl pulled low over his face, his eyes barely visible as they glint in the light, so dark they're nearly black. So quickly that Lucy almost doesn't notice, Jellal slips a knife into his palm, coiling like a snake prepared to strike, poised as he waits for Natsu to come in close, hoping for a quick fight.

Her breath catches in her throat, the blades glinting in the light, and Lucy calls out to them one more time, begging them to stop, but they don't hear her. She has to stop them, she knows, or they'll kill each other. All Jellal sees is a Berserk, a monster that could rip him apart, and Natsu's anger has been sparked, Jellal making the mistake of nearly killing the two of them. She's learned that Natsu won't forgive that.

This won't be like her fight with Natsu so long ago. There's no way to simply turn off this anger boiling beneath his skin, and Jellal is stronger than her. Lucy couldn't kill Natsu, couldn't overpower him, but Jellal could. It would cost him his life, but she thinks Jellal could do it.

They collide halfway across the small field, a small pocket in the forest, a steam bubbling as it winds through the tall grass. The trees tower over them, shading much of the clearing, the chill of winter curling through the air. Everything goes horrifyingly quiet for a moment, not a sound for what must be miles.

Natsu roars suddenly, the sound piercing the air, low and thunderous, so loud that Lucy winces, her heart stuttering in surprise. Her eyes widen just the slightest, the color draining from her face as she hears the violence in that sound, the anger and misery. Even Jellal hesitates when he hears it, just barely perceptible, but Lucy catches the way he stiffens, going far too still for a moment too long.

Jellal hesitates and suddenly Natsu is upon him, lashing out with a white-knuckled fist, Natsu unflinching. Reacting quickly, Jellal ducks out of the way, barely avoiding a blow that would have knocked him senseless. He swipes at Natsu with a knife, but Natsu was expecting it and side-steps just in time, the blade missing his eye by a hair. Lashing out with his foot, Natsu nearly catches Jellal's knee, but he stumbles back in time.

Lucy winces, knowing just how much it would hurt, and scrambles for her own weapons, knowing she can't get between them empty handed. Jellal clearly hasn't noticed her yet, and there's no guarantee that he would hesitate and ask questions first. Not that she would blame him. She knows how dangerous Berserks can be, she's seen it— _felt_ it. She could never blame Natsu for what he did, but she'll never forget the brutality of it, how terrified she was that he'd kill her.

She can't tear her eyes away from the fight as she sees Jellal's knife swipe across Natsu's collarbone, drawing a thin line of blood that only serves to anger Natsu more. He drives his knee upwards, snarling and baring his teeth, and Jellal isn't fast enough to avoid the blow this time. He wheezes, knife nearly slipping from his hand as Natsu catches him in the stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Natsu doesn't give Jellal a moment to regain his breath, lashing out with a fist that Jellal throws himself backwards to avoid. The ranger falls backwards into a roll, putting space between himself and the Berserk, and slips into a crouch, keeping himself low and away from Natsu's fists.

Jellal sneers, readying his knives, and this time he's ready when Natsu springs towards him, aiming a well placed strike towards Natsu's throat.

Lucy's hear seizes in her chest, her breath catching in her throat as panic wells inside her, too far away to stop them as Jellal strikes.

Strong fingers lock around Jellal's wrist, halting the blade only a breath away from Natsu's skin, the silver tip of the knife kissing his skin, so sharp that it pricks his skin, a droplet of blood slipping down the side of Natsu's neck.

Baring his teeth, Natsu leans in, snarling in Jellal's face as the ranger attempts to free himself from the Berserk's grip. Jellal struggles violently, hand caught, and he winces as Natsu's grip tightens, the thin bones in Jellal's wrist threatening to snap. Lucy can imagine his bones grinding together, straining not to break, and she knows it's only a matter of time. Natsu only needs to squeeze a bit tighter.

Jellal's grip tightens around the knife in his left hand, and he swings that one as well, Natsu shoving him backwards to avoid the strike. It puts distance between them, several feet stretching between them, and Lucy takes the opportunity to end the fight before it can really start.

She won't allow them to kill each other.

Scooping up her bow, Lucy bolts towards them, stumbling slightly as she runs, hoping to get to them before they go after each other again. Jellal catches her eyes, the cowl still covering most of his face, enough revealed for her to see the frown twisting his expression, gaze locked on her. She's still a dozen steps away when Natsu lurches forward, taking advantage of Jellal's distraction.

Lucy chokes back a sob as she lurches towards them, running as quickly as she can, but it isn't fast enough. Natsu's fist cracks across Jellal's jaw, knocking him onto his back and Natsu rips the knives from his hands, leaving Jellal defenseless on the ground, his chest heaving as he scrambles backwards, hands searching the grass for his bow, anything to fight back the Berserk looming over him.

His cowl slips backwards, revealing Jellal's horrified expression, his pupils blown wide in fear and his dark blue hair a mess, strands falling into his eyes. He shoves them back with one hand, the other still groping for something to fight back with, and Lucy is momentarily confused as to why he only brought two knives. Jellal always carried more than her, at least a dozen.

Shaking her head, Lucy shoves the thoughts back, not wanting to dwell on it. Her boot catches on a rock, something sharp digging into the bottom of her foot, but she ignores it, determined to put an end to the fighting.

Natsu towers over Jellal, a dangerous, looming figure, and Jellal spits out blood onto the grass, his lip split on one side and an ugly bruise forming along his cheek. He glares up at Natsu, daring him to come closer, but Natsu hovers just out of reach, waiting to see what Jellal will do next.

She remembers this game, how Natsu toyed with her during their fight, as if it were a game. He'd never seemed more like a predator to her than in that moment, all teeth and claws, eyes blank. He can't control it, he told her that, and she promised she would help.

Lucy doesn't break her promises.

The muscles in Natsu's back flex, his shoulders pulling back, and she knows he's about to strike, ready to finish what he started. She doesn't know how far he'll take it, if he'd kill Jellal or not, but she knows he's been struggling. He hasn't told her, but she knows he's been wound tight since before they left Bosco. He couldn't do anything while she was sick and she knows that must have killed him inside, he's been angry, jumpy, and she while she wants to believe he would stop himself, she doesn't know if he can.

Natsu's fist rears back, a low sound tumbling from his chest. Jellal braces himself, raising one arm to cover his face and curling in on himself. Natsu's arm swings down and Lucy doesn't think, she simply reacts.

Lucy throws herself between them, unafraid, and reaches blindly for Natsu, fingers wrapping around one of his wrists. Her magic swirls around her violently, whipping her hair around her face erratically, blocking her vision. There's a rush of air that's not her own, and Lucy steels herself, eyes squeezing shut as she waits for the blow she's more than prepared to block if it means keeping Jellal alive.

"Natsu, stop!" she shouts, hoping to get through to him, hoping he'll listen. "Please," she begs, the word coming out choked, Lucy unsure how to stop him.

The hit never comes, however, and Lucy's eyes snap open when warm knuckles graze her cheek, startling her. Natsu pulls back sharply, flinching as if she's struck him, but he doesn't go far. Lucy leans into his touch, letting his knuckles brush against her cheek once more as she glances up at him, finding him already staring back at her, his eyes blown wide with horror. Natsu's hand trembles as he touches her, sliding a lock of her hair away from her face.

Lucy relaxes against him, her magic calming and the wind cutting off abruptly. She smiles up at him, but Natsu doesn't return the look, his gaze hard as he glances between her and his fist, something like disgust clouding his green eyes. His hand hovers just over her skin, fingers bumping against her cheek slightly.

Natsu stares down at her, breathing heavy, and there's an apology in his eyes, some quiet horror that she didn't expect to see. "Lucy," he murmurs, barely loud enough for her to hear him. He shakes his head, wincing when her left hand curls around his wrist, pulling him down to press his knuckles flush against her cheek. His fingers uncurl slowly, Natsu hesitating before cupping her cheek, his palm warm against her. "Lucy," he repeats, almost panicked, "I didn't—"

She hushes him gently, nosing at his wrist and pressing her lips against the thin skin there, ghosting a kiss across his palm. She leaves his hand there, her own coming up to cover his, fingers threading through Natsu's gently. She sends him another reassuring smile, pressing up on her toes slightly to reach his height. She considers kissing him right then, but knows it's not the right time. "I know," she coos, murmuring the words against his palm. "It's okay," Lucy promises, hoping he can hear the honesty in her words.

He doesn't look convinced, glancing at his hand like it's something awful, but nods regardless, relaxing slowly. Lucy's hands slide up his bare arms until she's cradling his jaw gently, thumbs rubbing circles into his skin. She pulls him down to her, Natsu's forehead pressing against hers and he exhales shakily, breath fanning across her face.

Lucy smiles up at him again, nose bumping against his, and this time Natsu manages a smile back. It's faint, barely a quirk of the lips, but he smiles regardless. One of his hands settles on her hip, pulling her towards him slightly, and Lucy comes willingly, letting him take as much time as he needs.

She figures he might be upset with her, considering she put herself between him and an apparent enemy. He doesn't like seeing her hurt as much as she hates seeing him in pain, and she knows he wouldn't forgive himself if he'd hurt her, but she doesn't know any other way to stop him when he's frenzied.

Behind them, there's a soft scuffle, Jellal pushing himself off the ground. He moves slowly, as if Natsu might snap again, but the Berserk only has eyes for her, his gaze going soft as he stares down at Lucy. Natsu's fingers brush against her cheek, so light it tickles, and she releases a breathy sound that isn't quite a laugh.

Behind her, Jellal gasps suddenly, a sharp inhale reaching her ears. "Lucy?" Jellal murmurs, a quivering note to his voice, as if he can't believe it. She would be surprised to, if she saw someone she thought must be dead. "Lucy?" he repeats, louder this time, taking a step forward, hovering just behind her.

Natsu stiffens, a warning sound rumbling in his chest, but Lucy quiets him, grip tightening on either side of his jaw. He relents, sighing, and Lucy smiles as she pulls back, patting his cheek softly. Lucy worms out of his grip, but doesn't turn around, not yet.

She wets her lips, sighing, and steps back, releasing Natsu. "Is that any way to greet a friend?" she asks, teasing. It must come across as more scathing, because Jellal doesn't respond. The smile slips from her face, and Lucy turns on her heel slowly, until she's facing him directly. Natsu settles against her back, a protective presence, but she pays him no mind as she stares at her longtime friend. "How've you been, Jellal?"

He gapes at her, shocked, and he looks her over once, as if she's a stranger. "I didn't recognize you," he murmurs, clearing his throat and shoving his dark hair away from his eyes. His gaze flicks from her to Natsu, his lips pressing into a tight line, but he says nothing else, always a person of few words. Jellal shifts awkwardly, unsure where to look as he straightens his jacket.

"I can't say the same," she tells him, smiling slightly. He looks the same as she remembers, nothing has changed for him in over four months, possibly longer. She can't remember the last time she saw him. After he joined the Rangers he stopped coming around as much, too busy.

She considered joining the Rangers as well, at one point, but she's glad she didn't. She wouldn't be standing here now if she did.

As if sensing her thoughts, Natsu shifts a bit closer to her, his chest pressed up against her back, and she leans into him, relaxing against his touch. Jellal's sharp eyes follow the movement, though Lucy can't tell from his expression if he's bothered by it or not. He's always been hard to read.

Jellal shrugs, lips pressing into a thin line. "Four months is a long time," he tells her, head tilting to the side curiously. "Your hair is longer," he comments, gaze sliding from her to Natsu, something in his stare almost challenging. Again, he says nothing about the man standing behind Lucy, merely watching.

Natsu fidgets behind her, clearly uncomfortable with Jellal's staring, and Lucy reaches behind her, catching Natsu's hand in hers and lacing their fingers together, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Jellal's eyes snap to their connected hands, more curious than anything, and she doesn't think she has anything to worry about. Jellal isn't going to hurt him.

"I haven't had much time to cut it," Lucy replies, glancing at the tangled strands of hair falling around her, nose wrinkling when she sees the grass clinging to the golden strands.

He nods, lips curving up at the edges. "It looks good on you," he tells her and Lucy thinks he might be joking. She frowns back at him, unsure what to make of his comment, but Jellal only shakes his head, releasing a breath through his nose. "You got what you were looking for then?" he asks, head cocking to one side curiously. He hooks his bow over his shoulder, tracing the wood lovingly. Lucy nods, raising a hand to her throat, fingers sliding over the gem resting there. She hasn't taken it off since she woke up from her sickness. "Of course you did." Jellal nods, a spark of pride in his gaze. "You've always been determined."

Lucy snorts, unsure what to make of that, and simply watches as Jellal stoops down, gently lifting his knives off the ground, strapping them back into place beneath his jacket. "That's not always a good thing," she murmurs, soft enough for only her to hear.

Determination nearly got her killed several times, after all. She thinks determination is going to get a lot of people killed.

"You're with a Berserker," he says simply, a statement more than anything else. He stares, casual if not for the glint of iron in his gaze, knifelike. He shifts on his feet, keeping one knife in his hands. Jellal tosses it into the air, letting it spin twice before catching it again in a way that might be considered threatening.

She doesn't let it intimidate her, eyes narrowing as she stares him down. She's had enough of men threatening her over the course of the last two months. If Jellal thinks he can get away with waving a knife in her face, he's sorely mistaken.

"He's a friend," Lucy responds coolly, a slight hiss to her words. She was expecting a response like this, but that doesn't mean she has to like it. She's not going to tolerate anyone hating him for merely existing, not when Natsu hasn't done a damn thing to any one of them. He deserves better than that.

Jellal seems to consider her words, his eyes narrowing in thought. He glances at Natsu again, no traces of disgust in his eyes, but nothing friendly either. "Laxus won't like this," he comments lowly, putting his knife away when Lucy sends him a nasty look. He hesitates, staring pointedly at Natsu, but complies anyway, knowing he has more to fear from her than the Berserk.

Lucy relaxes once the knife is gone, lip curling as she thinks about his comment. She already knows her cousin won't be pleased with what she's brought home with her, she's known it since the very beginning. He's a lot of things, but welcoming is not one of them. "Laxus will have to deal with it," she tells Jellal, snapping at him slightly. She doesn't mean to be so harsh, but she won't let her cousin tell her what to do.

Jellal stills, shoving an arrow back into his quiver. He raises a brow her way, but doesn't look at her long, turning back to his work quickly. There's a secretive smile on his lips, one that makes her curious, but she doesn't ask. "You're picking a fight so soon?" he asks.

"Are you going to stop me?" She squeezes Natsu's fingers gently, and his thumb brushes against her knuckles softly, soothingly. His free hand settles on her hip again, holding her to him loosely. His fingers tap against her side in a slow rhythm, and she leans into his chest further, aware of how they must look to Jellal.

Thankfully, he says nothing about it, turning away from them, facing away from them. "You shouldn't make an enemy of your cousin," he remarks casually, lifting his things and glancing back the way he came, peering through the trees. He shifts his weight from side to side, then looks at her over his shoulder.

"I don't see how that's your business," Lucy says, pursing her lips. Her free hand clenches at her side, Lucy frowning at him.

Jellal sends her a wry smile, a glint in his eyes. "Lets get you home," he murmurs, gaze flicking between the two of them. Jellal doesn't look back at them as he heads in the direction of Magnolia, gesturing for them to follow him.

* * *

They walk for several hours, a tense silence blanketing the three of them, Jellal and Natsu eyeing each other warily, unsure what to make of each other. They walk on opposite sides of her, neither speaking, and though that's normal with Jellal, the man more silent than most, a quiet presence, but she's become used to absent chatter with Natsu, the pair of them sharing stories, anything to keep the silence from consuming them. She's gotten used to it over the last few months, and she almost wishes he would talk, but knows he won't, Natsu unsure what to make of Jellal.

They need to talk, she knows, about what happened earlier, before Jellal found them, but it's not the time, not with Jellal around them. Lucy needs to be sure that he meant it, what he did, what he promised. She needs to know what it all means.

The symbol on her arm is bright against her skin, and she can feel Jellal eyeing it as they walk, trying to make out what the symbol means. She's been trying to figure out the same thing, if she's being honest with herself. Lucy isn't sure what to make of the symbol on her skin, knowing it's meaning in a broad sense, but not what it means to Natsu. And she needs to know, she needs to know what that symbol means—what _she_ means—to him. She thinks she has an idea, but she needs to be sure.

It's not something they can talk about with Jellal so close, it's too personal.

Lucy glances up at Natsu, catching his eye, and his expression softens when he sees her, a small smile lighting up his face. She can't help but grin back, her hand bumping against his gently. He glances down at her fingers, his own twitching slightly, as if debating whether or not to grab them, but then he looks at Jellal and his expression sobers, his eyes darkening slightly.

Sighing, Lucy rubs at the painted mark on her arm, tracing the symbol absentmindedly, humming to herself as she walks. Jellal slips ahead of her, speeding up to walk several paces ahead, and she smiles at his back, feeling Natsu relax beside her, the tension slipping from him now that Jellal isn't staring.

Lucy worrying her lip between her teeth, thoughts drifting towards her family, her excitement building with every step they take closer to Magnolia. She's missed them more than realized, her heart aching when she thinks about close they are, nearly within reach but still so far off.

She can't imagine they'll be happy with her for being gone so long, but she thinks they'll forgive her. She'll be home in time for Romeo's birthday, three days early, if she has the date right. Maybe that'll make up for being gone for so long, or maybe it won't, but she knows Romeo won't hold a grudge. It's Laxus she's worried about, if she's being honest. He's always been the less forgiving of the two of them, and she doesn't know what he'll think of her coming with a Berserk in tow. As much as she'd like to say it doesn't matter what he thinks, it does.

Him snubbing Natsu, Laxus getting angry with her for it, those are things she knows would break something inside her. She loves Laxus, and she knows he loves her just as much, but that doesn't mean he can't be disappointed in her. That disappointment will hurt her more than most things, and she can only hope he'll understand where she's coming from, even if it takes time.

"How are they?" Lucy asks Jellal, glancing up at him briefly before staring straight ahead, watching Natsu walk along the side of the dirt path, off to her left. He drifts back to her side, glancing down at her, and Lucy flashes him a small smile before turning back to Jellal, awaiting an answer.

Jellal quirks a brow, smiling "Good," he tells her, sighing as he turns his gaze to the sky. They walk in silence for several seconds, Lucy wanting to push for more answers, needing to know how they've been after so long, but she knows she won't get anything out of Jellal that he doesn't want to give. "They miss you," he murmurs, sensing her desperation for information. His gaze softens when he looks at her, and Lucy releases a slow breath.

"I've missed them too," she murmurs, swallowing. Guilt prickles at her skin, Lucy ashamed of how long she spent away from them, knowing they must have been crawling out of their own skin, as her grandfather always says. He's always been a firm believer that a restless soul with eventually just slip away, off to search for what it yearns for. "Makarov?" Lucy glances up at Jellal once again, leaning into Natsu's side, seeking his warmth as they trudge through the winding path to Magnolia.

Jellal hides a smile as he sees he press against Natsu's side. "As flighty as ever," he says, rather than teasing her about her friend. He's already caught them in one compromising position, one she doubts she'll be forgiving him for anytime soon, and she'd much rather Jellal keep things to himself. "He's been working on something, I don't know what." His eyes narrow in thought. "He's been getting ready for the next market."

Lucy glances up at him, surprised, and her lips twist into a frown. "It's coming this soon?" she asks, confused. Makarov rarely starts working on anything until only a few months before the markets open, claiming he crafts better under the pressure of time. But the markets rarely start this close to winter, only active in the spring and summer months when travel is easier. Not once in over twenty years have they come this early. Not that Lucy's known.

Jellal hesitates before responding, voice clipped. "They wanted to get an early start this year."

He sends her a meaningful look, and Lucy's stomach twists. She knows what he means.

There might not be a market come summer.

* * *

 **AN: As previously stated, I should be catching up with the rewrite by around Friday next week, so new chapters will be starting soon (~6/02/18).**

 **Glossary of Gods/Terms/Creatures:**

 **Djehl:** Fire God from the northlands that granted the Berserks their strength/inner fire. His battle axe is called Bran.  
 **Djerda:** Goddess of night and the mother of Djehl.  
 **Estra:** Sister of Djehl and Daughter of Djerda. Goddess of the Stars. pulled the stars from the sky and gave them life, proving her devotion to Ieyar, a chaos god, and creating the Fae, their magic gifted to them by Ieyar.  
 **Ieyar:** God of Chaos. Gifted the Fae their magic after Estra pulled the stars from the sky for him.  
 **Ashtacar:** Berserker word meaning "safe travels." Traditionally used between friends and family, it has since become a way to honor the dead, granting them "safe travels" on their way to the next life.  
 **Ulfræder:** Berserk word for "blood traitor." It's a relatively heavy insult. Being a "blood traitor" is an unforgivable act.  
 **Descæter:** Berserk word for "deserter." Follows the same vein of Ulfræder, but is less insulting. Blood traitors abandon their homes and families, white a deserter abandons their post/army position.  
 **Velsigna av Branna:** Berserk word for "blessed by fire." As Vesigna means "to bless." "Branna" comes from "Bran (Braun)" an old word for fire, and the name of the God Djehl's battle axe.  
 **Velsigna av Strakaz:** "Blessed by Stars" From "Estra," a Berserk Goddess of the night sky, daughter of Djerda, Goddess of night, and sister to Djehl. Term for Faeborne and a reference to their scent.  
 **Mae Strakaz:** Literally "my stars."  
 **Valkyr:** An untranslatable word of admiration and love.

 **Ellyra** [El-eye-rah]: Formal name of the fairy trees. Rumored to house the souls of slain Fae within their trunks. The trees are semi-sentient, and can speak, though only to those who they want to hear. The trees are tall, with pale colored bark (white, to a light grey as the trees grow old) and red leaves. The trees bleed red sap, and in the Northlands they are commonly called Azgetta meaning "the bleeding" or alternatively "the weeping."


	36. Chapter 36

**AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!**

 **EDITED 5/25/18**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Chapter Thirty Six**

 _{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}_

Returning to Fiore is something Natsu never expected to do. He never once wanted to return to this country, not after what happened to him here. After the rings and the violence, Natsu always thought this was the last place he'd want to come back to. Alvarez was where he pictured himself, or perhaps the northern tip of Seven, where he could hide away forever. Not Fiore, never Fiore. He has too many memories of this place, of Igneel and the Red Night. Not all are bad, but each one leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Now, however, he doesn't feel that ache in his chest, his heart doesn't twist and squeeze as he walks through the forest, the trees towering over the three of them as they walk, silence curling around them, none of them knowing what to say.

Natsu eyes Jellal warily, his lips pressing into a thin line as he observes the other man, unsure what to make of the Ranger. While he seems kind enough, he's also quiet, his gaze following Natsu as he walks, something sharp in his dark eyes that makes Natsu uncomfortable. He's used to people staring, watching him like he'll snap, afraid of the beast from legends, waiting for it to lit its head and strike. Natsu hates that look, his blood boils and his lip curves up into the slightest hint of a snarl as he glares at Jellal, a challenge in his eyes.

Jellal merely blinks back, unconcerned, and stares ahead. His gaze shifts away from Natsu, Jellal's hands sliding into his pockets as he glances up at the sky, the blue a paler shade than his hair, the sun bright overhead, not a cloud to be seen. A crow cries out overhead, a tree branch shaking as the large bird lands, peering down at them curiously, head twisting around as it watches the sunlight glint off the necklace Lucy wears, gold flickering.

Natsu rips his gaze from the bird, glancing down at Lucy, watching her for a moment, concerned when he sees the nervous glint in her eyes, Lucy worrying her lower lip. Her fingers twitch at her sides, Lucy drumming a pattern against her thigh, a random rhythm that Natsu vaguely recognizes, unsure where he heard it before. He knows she's worried about returning home, excited to see her family, but nervous about their reaction.

He can't help but feel the same way. As much as he trusts Lucy, entirely willing to place his life in her hands, he knows that her family isn't her. While Lucy accepted him, looked passed the blood on his hands and the monster he was made to be, there's no guarantee that her family will be the same.

In a way, he feels like he knows them, Lucy telling him stories about her family during their travels. He'd like to believe they'll accept him as well, but he knows life isn't nearly that simple. They have no reason to trust him. In fact, that have reason not to, given what he did to Lucy.

Lucy may have forgiven him for what he did, but that doesn't mean her family will. He wouldn't blame them if they didn't. Natsu knows he would never forgive anyone for hurting her like that. And though he knows he had his reasons, he'll never be able to forget the terror in her eyes when he finally regained control of himself.

And he doesn't dare forget. He thinks the way she looked at him will stay with him forever, keeping him grounded. He never wants her to look at him like that again—like he's a _monster_. That fear in her eyes was sobering, and he remembers it every time his anger flares.

Sighing to himself, Natsu's gaze snaps to the ground, his shoulders drooping slightly. He wants to do better, and with Lucy's promise to help him, he thinks he will, someday. It's hard, holding back the rage prickling at his skin, but he won't let it control him any longer. Lucy's presence helps, but only so much. Berserks were made to feed on their anger, to slip into it, to gain _power_ from it.

It's not meant to be contained, and he knows it'll only get worse the longer he tries to avoid it, but he doesn't know what else to do. He needs to learn to control it, to only let it out when he wants it, not let it cloud his mind and steal away parts of him he can never get back.

Natsu vows to himself that he'll learn to control it, even if it kills him. He won't let himself snap again.

Lucy clears her throat suddenly, gaining both his attention and Jellal's. Both men glance down at her, but Lucy is looking up at Jellal, not him. She hesitates a moment, lips pursed as her gaze flicks between Jellal and the road, the three of them getting closer to Magnolia with every step. It's been three days since they crossed the border, and Natsu knows they're close, judging by how fidgety Lucy's become, her nerves finally spilling over.

"What were you doing so close to the border, Jellal?" she asks him softly, curiosity and suspicion thick in her voice. Her fingers continue tapping, and her free hand comes up to play with the necklace at her throat, Lucy tracing the gem with a gentle finger. The question hangs heavy in the air, Jellal stiffening slightly, but Lucy only raises a brow, impatience flickering in her eyes.

Jellal clears his throat, wetting his lips as he runs a hand through his messy hair, brushing his bangs out of his eyes, the long strands blowing gently in the breeze. "There's been…" he trails off quickly, frowning as if he can't decide what word to use, " _skirmishes_ near the borders recently," Jellal tells them, shrugging as if it's nothing important. Natsu doesn't believe it, noting the hard look in the man's eyes, the way he avoids Lucy's gaze. "They want us patrolling, and I was stationed close to Magnolia."

"In Bosco or Seven?" Lucy asks him, frowning. Natsu frowns as well, confused.

They hadn't noticed anything unusual in Bosco, the borders were clean and there were no signs of anything for miles between Fiore and Bosco, nothing but small towns and forests. Natsu can't be sure how big of skirmishes Jellal means, but judging by the Ranger's expression, Natsu knows it must have been serious. And from what Natsu knows of Seven, he doesn't see much fighting occurring. Most people live north, in the mountains, mining. Seven is famous for their weapons, from what Igneel told him. There's never been unrest in Seven.

Jellal purses his lips, avoiding Lucy's gaze. He clears his throat, growing tense the longer Lucy stares at him. "Both," Jellal admits after a long moment, peering over at her. Jellal's fingers disappear beneath his jacket, and he pulls out one of his knives, hesitating only briefly before tossing it in the air, the blade spinning before Jellal catches it with deft fingers. He doesn't speak again for a long moment, then sighs, shaking his head. "It only begun recently," Jellal murmurs, suddenly looking exhausted. "I'm surprised you two didn't come across anything."

He peers down at Lucy, then shrugs, unconcerned. Jellal turns away from them quickly, falling silent once more as he quickens his pace, walking several feet in front of them, clearly giving them some space, though Natsu doesn't know why.

Lucy falls into step beside him, arm brushing against his, and Natsu glances down at her, a fond smile creeping onto his face, and Lucy locks eyes with him. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't need to, he understands. There's so much hope in her eyes, hope and fear and a thousand other things that he can't even begin to understand. Her hands tremble, but she smiles up at him, her fingers brushing against his gently.

He glances down at her wrist, noticing the symbol still streaked across her skin, faded, the blue paint chipped away after nearly three days of walking. He would have thought she'd have removed it by now, what with how close they're getting to her home, but she's simply let it be, careful not to rub off the paint. She's caressed it several times with her fingers, from what he's noticed, tracing the symbol almost lovingly.

It looks delicate against her skin, with how thin her wrist is, not nearly as intimidating as it is on his own. The symbols always appear imposing on Berserks, almost threatening. Most others don't know what the runes mean, they simply recognize them as those worn by beasts. The symbols have become a brand of brutality that they were never meant to convey.

He hadn't been thinking when he painted it across Lucy's skin, not about the implication or what others might think. He simply wanted to see it on her skin, a symbol of protection, his rune. Somehow it felt like a promise, more so than his words ever were.

Several minutes later, they rise over the crest of a hill, Natsu going still as he looks down into the valley below, eyes widening when he gets his first glimpse of Magnolia. Lucy steps up behind him, angling to face him, a gentle hand settling in the center of his back as takes in the city below, awe coursing through him. He drinks in the sight of it, unsure how to feel as he stares.

It's much bigger than he expected, not half as large as Đüskell or Crocus, and still smaller than Narja, but a city regardless. His gaze flicks to the lake towards the northern edge of the city, mountains and forests surrounding the other three sides. The buildings are all made of stone, from what he can tell, the city beautiful. Nothing like Narja with its dark alleys and looming stone walls, and far different from Đüskell, its streets silent, an air of violence creeping through the city.

Magnolia, while not bustling, has something charming to it, the stone buildings bright and lined with what must be flowers, the sides overgrown with vines, something he never would have seen in Ðüskell. He gapes, tracing the canals with his eyes before something in the center of the city draws his attention. His gaze snaps to a towering building, Natsu squinting for a better look, noticing a flicker of color reflecting the sunlight, reds flickering in the morning sun, looking like fire dancing across the sides of the building.

He recognizes it, though he's never seen it before: Kardia Cathedral. One of the Berserks in the King's army mentioned it once, talked for an hour about the stained-glass windows and the bell tower that played the sweetest song. The old Berserk smiled as he told the story to Natsu and several other children, expression wistful, eyes sad. He'd been an old man, older than Igneel was, his hair graying and his eyes losing the life held within. He died soon after, and Natsu never knew his name, but he remembers the stories he told.

He called the cathedral the most beautiful thing in all of Fiore, though, Natsu thinks, glancing down to see Lucy smiling up at him, Natsu thinks he'd have to disagree.

Lucy breathes a laugh at his expression, winding her fingers through his as she leads him down the side of the hill, guiding him towards the city. He follows, only a step behind her, gaze locked on Magnolia, even as he loses his vantage point, much of the city being swallowed from view by the trees. The high towers of the cathedral rise over the treetops, marble walls just tall enough for Natsu to see.

He misses the amused expression on Jellal's face, the man waiting for them at the bottom of the hill. He exchanges a look with Lucy, but she only shakes her head, smiling as well. Natsu is pulled along behind her, the awe leaving him the closer they get to the city, knowing he isn't welcome there. Lucy only squeezes his fingers, reassuring him that she's right there with him.

Eventually, they come to a stop just outside of the city, across the road from a stone house, vines with soft, pink flowers curling along the sides of the building, overgrown as they stretch towards the top. The windows on the second floor are left open, flowerboxes in the windows and a small balcony on the building's left side, a workshop off to the left that he assumes must be Lucy's grandfather's. He doesn't need to ask to know this is her home, resting just outside the city, surrounded by trees, tucked away but not hidden completely.

Lucy clears her throat suddenly, gaining his attention. She squeezes his fingers, eyes locking with his for a long moment. Lucy glances away from him briefly, gaze flicking from the stone house to Jellal, who watches her curiously. "Jellal," she starts softly, looking back to Natsu, something unreadable in her eyes, "can you…" She trails off, leaving her question unfinished, but he seems to understand.

Jellal blinks at her, gaze sliding to Natsu slowly. He doesn't speak for a long moment, dark gaze focused on Natsu. There isn't hatred there, or even mistrust, but Natsu's skin prickles regardless, not used to being watched so intently. A moment later, Jellal turns away, smoothing down his rumpled clothing. "I think I'll go find Makarov," he says casually, wrinkling his nose at he looks at a tear in his clothing. "I believe he has something waiting for me."

Lucy's lips twitch slightly, and she shakes her head, clearly amused with Jellal's none too subtle excuse for leaving. The ranger shoulders his bag, taking a step towards the house. "Thank you," Lucy calls after him softly, just loud enough for Jellal to hear her. He keeps walking, and Natsu thinks he's simply going to ignore her.

He stops halfway across the road, but doesn't turn around. "Don't leave them waiting too long," is all he says to Lucy, hesitating a moment before casting her a glance over his shoulder. He doesn't smile, but there's something softer in his gaze, perhaps even amused. His eyes flick to Natsu, who tenses in response. "Natsu," Jellal says softly, nodding at him.

"Jellal," Natsu replies in kind, returning the gesture, unsure what else to do.

The man's lips quirk at the edges, so small Natsu almost doesn't notice. He doesn't spare them another look, simply turns back to the house, ambling across the street, limping slightly from where Natsu kicked him the other day. Natsu watches him go, Jellal heading towards the workshop, slipping inside with ease, and disappears.

Lucy squeezes his fingers, bringing his attention back to her. His eyes lock with hers, but her gaze darts away from his immediately. Natsu frowns, confused, and turns slightly, facing her more directly, waiting for her to look at him once more.

"Are you nervous?" she asks him suddenly, staring at the house. Natsu follows her gaze, seeing a figure move inside, their shadow shifting across the window, a curtain hung in the way. He swallows, glancing at his feet, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. Lucy's gaze flicks to him, her lips twisting into a small, reassuring smile. "Don't be."

He snorts, shaking his head. "That's a hard thing to ask, Lucy," he tells her gently, peeking down at her. She locks eyes with him, and Natsu feels his own mouth quirk into a smile, barely there, but enough for her eyes to brighten.

Her grip on his hand tightens, and Lucy curls her fingers through his, shifting to face him directly. "They won't turn you away," she promises, free had rising to his chest. Her fingertips ghost the thin cut on his collarbone where Jellal nicked him. It's small, hardly bothersome, but she frowns, her thumb brushing against his skin slowly.

His fingers curl around her wrist, gently lifting it to his mouth, and Natsu presses his lips to the paint on her skin, holding her there. "They'd have every reason to," he mumbles against her arm, nosing at her skin. She hasn't put her gloves back on since he drew his rune there, and it sends a flash of pride through him.

She sighs, leaning into him slightly. "Do you really believe that?" she whispers back to him, fingers brushing against his cheek. Her expression twists into something sad, and Natsu winces, releasing their connected hands to settle his palm on her hip, leading her closer to him.

"If someone else hurt you the way I did," he tells her, fingers squeezing around her hip, "I would never forgive them." He swallows thickly, locking eyes with her, and Lucy's other hand comes up to cradle his jaw.

She shakes her head, leaning into him. Her thumb brushes against the stubble on his jaw, tickling him slightly. "It's not for them to forgive," she reminds him, expression honest as she stares at him, eyes seeing right through him. He winces, looking away from her, shame coursing through him.

"Lucy," he mumbles, grip loosening on her as he leans back, pulling away from her slightly. He doesn't release her, not having the heart to let her go. She doesn't allow him to leave her entirely, grip growing tight on his jaw, holding him in place. Natsu's eyes lock with hers, apologetic, but she only shakes her head, sighing as she traces a finger across his cheek.

His breath fans across her wrist, tickling her bare skin, and Lucy shivers slightly as he leans into her touch, nosing at the rune on her arm. "Let me handle them," she murmurs, nodding towards the house, a pleading note to her voice that makes him wince. "You did nothing wrong," she continues, voice firmer this time. His eyes snap up to meet hers, surprise flashing through him. "Not to me," she tells him, a promise.

He manages a smile for her, leaning in and pressing his forehead against hers. Her thumb strokes across his cheek, gentle and soothing, and Natsu finds himself pulling her towards him, her torso barely brushing against his. Lucy's breath ghosts across him, light and nervous, and he peers down at her, gaze questioning. She smiles back, though it's small, unsure.

Eyes narrowing, Natsu's palm slides around to the center of her back, grounding her to him. He squeezes her wrist softly, then releases her. She doesn't pull back from him, both hands settling on his cheeks, fingers quivering slightly.

"I need to know what it means," she whispers, so close he can almost taste her, Lucy just out of reach. His free hand settles on her waist, holding her loosely, and he frowns, not understanding what she means. Lucy wets her lips, gaze snapping away from his for only a moment before her soft, sweet gaze comes back to his.

"What?" he whispers back to her, squeezing her side gently. Lucy's exhale is shaky against him, and he winces, unsure what's wrong. "What do you mean?" he asks her, leaning in to press his nose against her cheek, nuzzling at her until she gives a breathy laugh, pulling away as he tickles her.

Lucy takes a deep breath, calming herself, and her gaze is more serious than he's ever seen it when she looks up at him. She pulls away from him, putting several inches of distance between them. Before he can panic, Lucy releases him with one hand, moving her painted wrist into his line of sight. "What does it mean?" she asks again, wetting her lips before biting them, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

His frown only deepens, Natsu not understanding. "I told you," he murmurs, shaking his head, "it means—"

Lucy cuts him off, though not unkindly. "What does it mean to _you_ , Natsu?" she clarifies, hands coming back to cradle his jaw, gently coaxing him to meet her gaze. There's something unfamiliar there, something thick and sweet as honey, Lucy staring at him as if his answer means something, but he doesn't know what.

His mouth goes dry as he realizes what she's asking, Natsu inhaling sharply. He swallows down the lump in his throat, his eyes flicking to her lips for only a short moment. "What do you want it to mean?" he asks her. He knows what the symbol means to him, what he wants it to mean for both of them, but first he needs to know if she wants the same thing.

She breathes a laugh against him, huffing lightly, and sends him a look that's a cross between amused and annoyed. "That's not an answer," she tells him, unable to smother the laugh that bubbles up from her chest. A smile pulls at her lips, her eyes brightening, and he can't help but pull her tighter against him.

He chuckles, one hand leaving her back to brush her hair away from her eyes. "Lucy," he whispers, head tilting as his mouth goes back to her wrist. He stops short of finishing, knowing it's not the right time for this. As much as he wants to tell her what she means to him, her family matters more. They've been waiting for her for months now, aching to know she's okay, and he can wait a little longer. "It means I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you safe," he tells her softly, a serious note to his words as he presses a gentle kiss against her painted skin. He holds her gaze, watching her breath catch, and pulls back slowly.

It isn't a lie. That rune means he would do whatever it took to keep her alive, to keep her happy. It means she's something he wants to protect, even if he knows she doesn't that from him. Lucy is strong, so much stronger than he ever could have imagined. It amazes him, just how incredible she really is, and he'll be damned before he lets something break her. He's been broken before, snapped into pieces and he won't let the same thing happen to her.

For a moment, something like disappointment flashes across her face, but it's gone before he can be sure. Lucy nods slowly, sending him a grin that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I know you will," she tells him, stepping in close. Natsu holds his breath, losing himself to the gold in her eyes, and he practically sighs when Lucy pressed up on her toes, placing one hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

She leans into him, lips pressing against his cheek in a lingering kiss. Natsu sighs, eyes slipping shut as Lucy coils her arms around his neck, dragging him into a hug. He falls into her willingly, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, crushing her to him. Lucy clings to him in return, tucking her head against the side of his neck as she gives him a gentle squeeze. His grip only tightens, Natsu burying his nose against her hair, inhaling her sweet smell, stardust clinging to his senses.

He squeezes her around the waist, pressing a soft kiss against her temple before tucking her beneath his chin. Natsu sighs, knowing he needs to let her go, but not wanting to quite yet. He forces himself to anyway, breaking the grip she has around his neck, leaning just out of reach. Lucy frowns up at him, but he only smiles, tugging at one of her braids gently.

"They're waiting for you," he reminds her, grinning when Lucy's eyes light up. She untangles herself from him, glancing towards the house across the street. Jellal can only stall for so long, and he knows she itching to be back with her family. Lucy hesitates a moment, glancing up at him. She nods just the slightest, sending him a smile, and he watches her fondly, Lucy's emotions flickering in her eyes.

Pulling away from him, she stoops, grabbing her things off the ground where she set them aside. She lifts her bow gingerly, holding it loosely in one hand along with her quiver. Lucy stares at the house, reaching for her magic bag, but Natsu grabs it before she can do anything with it. He pries the bag from her hands, slinging it over his shoulder before she can protest. Lucy frowns, head cocking to the side curiously, and Natsu grins back at her.

He says nothing, only gestures with his chin for her to move. The bag is only going to get in the way. He doubts her family is going to hold back when they see her, given how long she's been gone. The less things she has to hold, the better, he thinks. Lucy appears to agree, considering she doesn't argue over it. He has no doubt in his mind that she wouldn't hesitate to protest anything she didn't like.

Lucy takes a step towards the house, the worn, cobblestone road crunching beneath her boot. She pauses, uncertain, then reaches for him, linking her fingers through his and pulling him along behind her. He chuckles, allowing her to drag him across the road, Natsu glancing between her and the house looming before them.

It's inviting enough, lived in and radiating a warmth that chases away the fear in his chest. It's a home, and that's something he hasn't had in a very long time. His steps falter, his free hand curling into a fist as he eyes the building warily, unsure what to make of it. Lucy seems to notice his hesitation, her grip on him growing firm. She sends him a look over her shoulder, the look in her eyes promising that everything will be okay.

He believes her, nodding slowly and matching her pace, her excitement whirling around them in a gust of air, Lucy's magic finally coming back in full force. It was week before, after the black blood was removed from her arm. She could barely summon a breeze, and though she never said a word about it, he knew it bothered her deeply. She told him her magic was weak to begin with, but it was a constant in her life, something she could rely on. He can't imagine having something like that ripped away from him.

Lucy's fingertips brush against the doorknob, tracing the copper with a gentle touch. Lucy can hear noise coming from inside, someone moving around in the back of the house. She takes a deep breath, straightens her back, and clenches her jaw, looking more like she's preparing for battle than returning home after being gone for so long.

Natsu places a firm hand on the center of her back, steadying her, and though she doesn't look at him, Lucy leans into his hand for only a moment. She releases a breath, shaking herself, and quietly opens the door, the hinge creaking softly, so quiet he barely hears it.

Light spills into the house, the door slipping open, just wide enough for them to slip through. Lucy heads inside first, a small smile on her lips, and Natsu hesitates, unsure if he should follow her or wait outside. She makes the choice for him, reaching back with one hand and finding his fingers. Slowly, he offers his hand to her, letting her digits curl around his gently. She squeezes his hands, so softly he barely notices, and then slips through the door, pulling him along behind her.

Her hand stays curled through his, and Natsu follows a step behind her, gaze darting around the threshold nervously, feeling as if he isn't supposed to be here. Lucy glances at him over her shoulder, sending him a small smile, and again she squeezes his hand, reassuring him that he'll be okay.

A clatter comes from the back of the house, what sounds pans being shifted and smacked together. A curse follows the noise, then a bang and a yelp. Lucy bites back a smile, and Natsu snorts, figuring that something's been dropped when he hears mumbling, swears mixed with other snippets that he doesn't understand.

Lucy takes a step further into the house, waiting for Natsu fully enter the room before shutting the door softly behind them. Whoever's in the back either doesn't hear them or doesn't care, and Natsu thinks they're in for a surprise. Lucy must think the same thing, because she glances up at him, smile impish and eyes sparking with mischief. He sends her what he hopes is a disapproving stare, but he cracks, smiling back at her when he sees the absolute joy in her expression.

Lucy gently sets her bow against the wall, then her quiver, and Natsu watches as Lucy slips the knives from the sheaths on her thighs, placing them on a small table near the door. Natsu sets her bag beside her knives, hovering a step behind her as Lucy maneuvers towards the back, guiding him with a gentle hand.

They stop in the threshold of what must be a kitchen, a younger man standing by a table, a stack of pots and pans balanced precariously in his hands. Natsu recognizes him as Romeo, Lucy's younger brother. He's average height, shorter than Natsu but far taller than Lucy. Dark, shaggy hair falls around his face, his brow furrowed and a frown marring his lips. He can't be any older than seventeen, and Natsu vaguely recalls Lucy mentioning his age weeks ago, though Natsu can't be sure if his birthday has passed yet or not.

The male grumbles something to himself, and Natsu eyes him critically, quirking a brow when he sees what the other man is wearing. He knows little of the fashion in Fiore, given he last time he was here was over a decade ago. From what he's seen it's very different from that of Pergrande, shorter and more skin-baring, if Lucy's clothing are considered natural. Pergrande is stuffy, long dresses and layers and layers of rippling fabric, lavish red and gold, jewels decorating fingers.

Ðüskell wasn't called the Red City for no reason.

The other man's state of dress is odd to him, though Natsu figures he looks similarly unnatural, perhaps more so. He'd never put much thought into the traditional garb of Berserks, loose where they do wear any, his chest bare. Romeo seems at ease in his baggy panty, his bare feet padding across the floor.

Natsu frowns at the dark violet jacket he's wearing, the fabric hanging to his mid-thigh. The jacket is left open and synched at the waist with a white cloth, knotted over his right hip. He shifts and Natsu catches sight of a black string woven through the knot at his hip, three gold coins dangling down his leg, glinting in the light spilling from the window. A dark, teal bandana is tied around his neck, white spots dotting the cloth.

Romeo notices them out of the corner of his eye, but doesn't appear to realize that it's Lucy. "Laxus!" he gripes, huffing when he lifts the stack of pans higher, trying hard not to drop them all. "Do you think you could grab me the—" he cuts off suddenly, eyes going wide. The pans drop from his grip, six of them all tumbling to the ground, crashing loudly as they roll across the wood floors. "Lucy," he murmurs, eyes wide in disbelief as he stares at his sister, unsure if she's real.

"Hi, Romeo," she whispers, voice thick with emotion. Natsu glances down at her, his eyes widening when he realizes Lucy is crying, but he says nothing, simply watching as she takes another step into the room, releasing his hand as she does. Natsu shifts awkwardly now that she's not standing beside him, but softens when she holds her arms out to Romeo, beckoning him forward.

Romeo doesn't hesitate, launching himself at her. "Lucy!" he shouts, throwing himself at his sister and wrapping her up in his arms. Romeo's embrace swallows her up, his long, gangly limbs curling around Lucy tightly. Romeo lifts her clear off the ground, forcing Lucy to throw her arms around his neck, lest she risk falling down. He spins her in a fast circle and Lucy shrieks with laughter, giggling as Romeo babbles something incoherent. A jewel glints in his right ear, a sapphire dangling from a hook.

There's a shuffling sound from the right side of the room, and then a tall, blond man in a dark, sleeveless blue shirt steps into the room, a frown marring his features and a large scar cutting across his right eye, taking up much of his face. "Romeo," he grumbles, running a weary hand down the side of his face, bags under his eyes. "What are you—" He cuts off as soon as he sees Lucy, but doesn't say a word.

Lucy's eyes lock with his, and Natsu realizes who the other man is when he sees his eyes, only a shade darker than Lucy's. "Laxus," she breathes, Romeo setting her back onto the floor. That one word is all it takes. Her cousin lunges forward, nearly knocking Romeo aside as he jerks Lucy into a tight hug that only lasts for a moment before he's jerking back once again.

"Where have you been?" he hisses at Lucy, both men hovering over her, taking no notice of Natsu standing silently in the doorframe. "You were supposed to be back weeks ago!"

He looks away from them, feeling as if he's intruding, and busies himself by fiddling with the garnet cloth attached to the belt around his hips, nose wrinkling when he sees how many holes there are in it now. He'll have to get it fixed at some point.

"I know, I know," she tries to placate her cousin, holding up her hands between them as she attempts to soothe Laxus. "I ran into some trouble—"

He cuts her off, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes. "I told you not to—"

"Don't start that with me, Laxus," she hisses at him, placing her hands on her hips and glaring. "I can do whatever I—"

Romeo watches their back and forth with wide eyes, but wisely stays silent, not daring to get caught up in their argument. None of them notice the side door of the house open, an old, short man stepping into the house, Jellal hovering behind him. The man quirks a white, bushy eyebrow at the bickering cousins, a fond smile on his face as he shakes his head. He waits for them to finish, leaning on a cane with polished grip made from what must be a ruby.

Jellal simply shakes his head when he sees Lucy and Laxus arguing, not paying them any mind as he hovers behind Makarov, Lucy's grandfather. The ranger stares at Natsu curiously, expression neutral, giving away none of his thoughts. It's unnerving, but Natsu decides it's better than hatred or fear.

Laxus and Lucy continue to argue and Makarov's gaze slides to Natsu, who stills, breath catching as he waits for the man's anger. Makarov, however, only raises a curious brow, a twinkle of mischief in his pale eyes. He blinks at Natsu slowly, looking him over carefully, observing his scars with a hint of sadness, knowing what he is. His eyes lock with Natsu's, staring him down, and Natsu suddenly feels the smallest he's ever been, with this man no taller than five feet staring at him.

His gaze suddenly flicks back to his grandchildren. "And who's this?" he calls to them loudly, breaking up their squabbling. Laxus stops mid-insult, frowning, and glances around curiously, searching for what Makarov means. His gaze locks on Natsu's frame hovering in the doorway, and he tenses, gold eyes widening.

Romeo also stares at him, curious, but confused, not appearing to know that Natsu isn't as ordinary as he must appear to be.

Lucy is quick to step in front of him, pulling away from Laxus and shifting so she's standing only a foot in front of Natsu, body rigid as she shifts. "A friend," she tells her grandfather, though her gaze never leaves Laxus, gauging his reaction carefully, lest he try something. Lucy reaches backwards, her hand finding his, and Natsu's fingers slip through hers easily, squeezing her palm gently.

"A Berserker," Laxus corrects, hissing the word as if it's vile. Natsu flinches, gaze snapping to the ground. A snarl builds in his chest, his lips curling back challengingly as he stares at the other man, but he bites his tongue, knowing he shouldn't pick a fight. He settles with flashing a glare towards Laxus, anger prickling at his skin at the disgust that seeps into the man's tone.

Lucy takes a half-step away from her cousin, her back pressing flush against Natsu's chest as she glares at Laxus, lips pressing into a thin unamused line. Her fingers squeeze around him, anchoring him to her, and Natsu slowly feels himself relax, the anger bleeding from him. "Laxus," she hisses right back at him, ignoring the wide-eyed look Romeo sends her, a spark of fear in his gaze, " _don't_." There's a warning in her tone, but Natsu tugs her closer to him, shaking his head slowly when she glances at him.

He won't have her fighting her family, not for him.

"Lucy," Makarov cuts in, stepping forward until he's standing between the tense cousins. The old man stares up at her curiously, gaze flicking between her and Natsu. "Why is he here?" he asks, not unkindly, only curiosity creeping into his tone.

She hesitates a moment, glancing at him over her shoulder as she squeezes his hand in hers. "He helped me get home," she tells them honestly, eyes searching his for a long moment before she turns away. Natsu eyes her critically, aware of how much she's omitting.

"Is that so?" Makarov murmurs, expression knowing, his eyes narrowing slightly, aware that she's hiding something. Then, he looks at Natsu, something like gratitude in his gaze, though he says nothing else.

Romeo takes a step towards them, edging around Laxus to get a better look at the Berserk standing in his house. He frowns, eyes narrowing as he observes the older man. Natsu locks eyes with him, Romeo's dark blue eyes curious. Then, the boy's head snaps up, his gaze darting to Laxus. "Do you think he might be willing to help us?" he asks Laxus suddenly, a serious edge to his words.

Makarov's face pales, but before he can speak Natsu cuts him off, eyes locked on Laxus.

"Help with what?" he asks, practically growling, speaking for the first time. Romeo's eyes widen when he hears the gruff timber of Natsu's voice. Heat flares in his veins, his skin itching at the way they stare at him, the same way Domus Centari stared at him—like he's a weapon to be used. "Lucy?" he murmurs, voice softening as he stares down at her, confused. She frowns back, looking as lost as him, but before she can reply, Laxus laughs.

He snorts, shaking his head, and eyes Natsu almost lazily. "She didn't tell you?" he asks, a half-smile pulling at his lips. Natsu's frown only deepens, his eyes narrowing as he looks at the other man. "We're starting a war," Laxus tells him.

* * *

 **AN: As previously stated, I should be catching up with the rewrite by around Friday next week, so new chapters will be starting soon (~6/02/18).**

 **Glossary of Gods/Terms/Creatures:**

 **Djehl:** Fire God from the northlands that granted the Berserks their strength/inner fire. His battle axe is called Bran.  
 **Djerda:** Goddess of night and the mother of Djehl.  
 **Estra:** Sister of Djehl and Daughter of Djerda. Goddess of the Stars. pulled the stars from the sky and gave them life, proving her devotion to Ieyar, a chaos god, and creating the Fae, their magic gifted to them by Ieyar.  
 **Ieyar:** God of Chaos. Gifted the Fae their magic after Estra pulled the stars from the sky for him.  
 **Ashtacar:** Berserker word meaning "safe travels." Traditionally used between friends and family, it has since become a way to honor the dead, granting them "safe travels" on their way to the next life.  
 **Ulfræder:** Berserk word for "blood traitor." It's a relatively heavy insult. Being a "blood traitor" is an unforgivable act.  
 **Descæter:** Berserk word for "deserter." Follows the same vein of Ulfræder, but is less insulting. Blood traitors abandon their homes and families, white a deserter abandons their post/army position.  
 **Velsigna av Branna:** Berserk word for "blessed by fire." As Vesigna means "to bless." "Branna" comes from "Bran (Braun)" an old word for fire, and the name of the God Djehl's battle axe.  
 **Velsigna av Strakaz:** "Blessed by Stars" From "Estra," a Berserk Goddess of the night sky, daughter of Djerda, Goddess of night, and sister to Djehl. Term for Faeborne and a reference to their scent.  
 **Mae Strakaz:** Literally "my stars."  
 **Valkyr:** An untranslatable word of admiration and love.

 **Ellyra** [El-eye-rah]: Formal name of the fairy trees. Rumored to house the souls of slain Fae within their trunks. The trees are semi-sentient, and can speak, though only to those who they want to hear. The trees are tall, with pale colored bark (white, to a light grey as the trees grow old) and red leaves. The trees bleed red sap, and in the Northlands they are commonly called Azgetta meaning "the bleeding" or alternatively "the weeping."


	37. Arc Two: Chapter 1

**AN (original): Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! For all of you, this should be posted on October 7th, but currently it is August 27th for me! I don't know how many chapters I'll have written before I start posting again, but I'm hoping for at least ten! In my AN at the bottom, I'll probably state how many I did finish. Fingers crossed I reached my goal! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter One**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

The room goes quiet, not so much as a whisper flitting through the enclosed space, the silence so loud it rings in her ears. Laxus' expression hardens as he stares back at his cousin, gaze flicking between her and the unfamiliar man at her side, a sneer on his lips as he looks Natsu over, gaze lingering on the golden armor covering the lower half of his torso. After several seconds his smile slips away, smugness vanishing, though Lucy knows it won't remain that way for long. His spine straightens, Laxus rising to his full height and glaring at Natsu, fingers twitching. Sparks flicker from his digits, the air crackling with electricity as his agitation spills through the cracks in his resolve.

The air smells of lightning, a storm curling through the area between them, and if she didn't know better she would think rain was coming.

Laxus never has had control over his magic, constantly shocking people, sometimes to the point of pain, though she knows it's not for want. As a child he could do little more than create sparks on his fingers, the jolts teasing and more startling than painful, but as he aged his lightning became stronger, more unpredictable—dangerous. There was no one to teach them how to control the magic bubbling beneath their skin, but while Lucy's gusts of wind are relatively harmless, Laxus' shocks began to _hurt_. And the more they hurt others, the angrier it made him, which only affected his magic negatively.

The pale scar on her side tingles faintly, a reminder of things best forgotten.

Romeo glances nervously between the occupants of the room, gauging their reactions to Laxus' revelation. His gaze is wary as he looks between his adopted siblings, lips caught between his teeth. "Laxus, don't," he says suddenly, sighing as he takes a step between them, hovering in front of Lucy as if to block her from view. "Let it go for now," Romeo pleads, voice nearly a whisper. "She just came home."

Her younger brother takes a hesitant step towards her, wincing slightly as he sees the shock painted across her expression, and Lucy's throat closes up when she sees an apology in his eyes. There's guilt there as well, regret for opening the topic in the first place, and she suddenly feels very sick. Romeo reaches out for her. Fingers brush against her arm, though he doesn't grab her, only offers silent support.

She barely feels him next to her, numb.

Her hands go lax at her sides, fingers slipping from Natsu's, and she barely recognizes a jolt of hurt as he lets her go. Her eyes stay locked with her grandfather's, however, Lucy unable to turn away from the apology in his gaze, unsure what to make of it. They'd talked of war in the past, briefly letting their anger spill over into empty words, empty promises, empty _threats_. Laxus has always been belligerent, the lightning in his veins crackling with heat and itching to spill over.

 _We're starting a war_ , Laxus' words curl through her mind, Lucy unable to breathe. Disbelief and fear curl through her, choking her. Her hands tremble at her sides, her good-humored argument with Laxus suddenly leaving a bad taste in her mouth. Lucy sways slightly where she stands, unable to process what Laxus said. She's been home for less than five minutes and Laxus is already calling for war.

He wasn't in Pergrande. He didn't see what she saw. He wasn't there when Jorah was burned to the ground, didn't smell the bodies left to rot. A small skirmish at the border was all it was, and it _destroyed_ an entire town.

And the worst part is that she can't say she didn't know it was coming.

Laxus' turns his glare on Romeo, snorting loudly and crossing his arms over his chest, a hard look in his eyes. "Stay out of it, Romeo," he demands, eyes snapping back to Lucy's as he ignores the younger man, staring over his shoulder. Lightning flickers from his fingers, crackling sharply through the room.

Her magic flares in response, a breeze that shouldn't be there ruffling her hair before slipping closer to Laxus, a challenge.

She peels her eyes from the gold boiling in her cousin's, Lucy's gaze snaps to Makarov's instead, praying Laxus is only trying to get under her skin. She doesn't want a war, not now. It may have been their goal before to crumble the Centari empire and instill the rightful heir, but things have changed now. After what happened in Jorah she knows it won't be that easy.

Her eyes search his expression, seeking an answer, but she doesn't like what she finds. Ice curls through her veins and slips between her ribs, finding her heart and squeezing as she watches the series of emotions that flicker across her grandfather's face: anger, annoyance, something like guilt that makes her feel _sick_. He meets her eyes, hesitating briefly as shame creeps across his features, slow and winding, like ivy. For a moment she doesn't notice it, but his eyes have never told a lie. Not to her.

Makarov's always had honest eyes. They're more trustworthy than his mouth could ever be. She's heard him swindle customers before, the Fae blood in their veins giving them perfect honey tongues, sweetness masking the sting.

Her cousin takes a step towards them, almost threatening as he glances towards Natsu, still hovering beside Lucy. His teeth grind together, so loud that Lucy can hear, and the sound forces her eyes back to Laxus' enraged expression. He clenches his jaw so tightly that a muscle jumps, and Romeo hesitates as lightning flashes in his eyes.

"Laxus, come on," he tries a second time, holding his arms up, placating, and Lucy barely sees the hint of a smile on his lips, nervous, but genuine. "Don't do this right now." He takes a step forward, crossing the small distance between the two of them, wary as he glances down at Laxus' fists. They all know Laxus would never dare strike Romeo; it's his magic they don't trust. "I shouldn't have said anything," Romeo continues, chin tilted to meet Laxus' eyes, but he's still staring at Lucy. "We can talk about this later."

Romeo moves to place his hands on Laxus' shoulders, hoping to calm him, but Lucy suddenly springs forward. Her fingers curl through the back of his shirt and she yanks him backwards just as a bolt of lightning springs from Laxus' arm, hissing and sputtering. It misses Romeo by a hair and he stumbles back into Lucy, who whirls on Laxus instead.

"Laxus, stop!" she barks at him, gently shoving Romeo away and taking a step forward. He snarls something back at her, but the words are lost on Lucy as a growl suddenly rips through the air, heat prickling at her skin.

"What war?" a voice snarls from behind her, the hair on her arms standing on end at the dangerous note to the words. Something cold washes down Lucy's spine, her breath catching.

She didn't notice Natsu going stiff at her side, the Berserk finally processing Laxus' words. But his anger? That Lucy can _feel_. A burning heat suddenly curls through the room coming off of him in waves. It's sweltering, the Gods Flame boiling in his blood and seeping into the room. It burns at her skin, no longer a comforting warmth beside her and Lucy flinches slightly as his arm brushes against hers.

His agitation flickers, fire like, and licks at her skin. Lucy manages to tear her gaze away from Laxus long enough to glance up at her friend, flinching when she sees his gaze has gone cold. All the life she's come to know has frosted over, hidden below a layer of sheer ice that contrasts with the heat rolling off him.

His breaths come in gasps, Natsu's clenched fists beginning to tremble, and his expression suddenly flickers with something dangerous, something she hasn't seen since the time they fought. His lips curl back and he straightens to his full height, towering over Lucy for the second time since they met.

"Natsu," she breathes, finding her voice suddenly as terror sweeps through her. Everything about the Berserk is tense, as rigid as he was back in Jorah, before the rebellion broke out. His fingers curl into tight fists, pupils constricted into pinpricks as he stares at Laxus, something horrified in his gaze. It's with a bitter taste that Lucy realizes she dragged him from one war directly into another.

He doesn't react to her voice, gaze locked on Laxus. "What war?" he growls again, low and threatening, and Lucy sees Romeo flinch from the corner of her eye, the younger man startled by the Berserk's tone. Her brother curls in on himself, taking a small step back, and Lucy sees Jellal reach for a knife, expression cool, calculating but not cruel.

Laxus glares back, unafraid even as Natsu bares his teeth. The air crackles once more, sparks shooting from Laxus' fingers, and Lucy could swear she sees his magic move beneath his skin, crawling up his arms. Her own magic reacts to his, a gale ripping through the room wildly. Lucy's hair whips around her, and she misses the awe in Makarov's eyes, her magic stronger than it once was, more unpredictable.

She takes a slow breath, calming herself as the room's tension washes over her, ice pooling in her stomach and freezing her from the inside out. "Natsu," she tries again, praying to the Old Gods that she'll get his attention as she reaches for him. Her palm brushes against his bare arm, his skin burning to the touch, but she doesn't pull away from him, even as she feels her skin prickle with sudden pain.

Natsu jerks away from her touch briefly, eyes snapping down to meet hers. He stills when he sees her, gaze going soft for only a moment before he turns back to Laxus. Natsu doesn't say a word, his jaw clenching and teeth grinding together audibly. She squeezes his arm once more, reminding him that she's there. While he doesn't pull away from her, he doesn't relax either, and with a sigh she lets her arm fall back to her side.

Instead of prodding him when she knows he isn't about to budge, she turns back to her cousin.

"Laxus, what are you talking about?" she hisses, stepping around Natsu and Romeo to face her cousin more directly, hesitant to cross the distance between them, but loath to hide. Cold realization washes over her when their eyes lock, burnished gold clashing. Laxus looks away first, only for a moment, and Lucy knows him well enough to recognize even the smallest flicker of guilt.

It's an expression she's never liked, not on him.

Silence stretches between them for several seconds, and then Laxus' gaze hardens, something molten in his eyes. "It has been decided," is all he says, glowering at her. A muscle in his jaw jumps as he swallows, tensing and anticipating her anger. He exhales through his nose, strands of blond hair ruffling as her wind curls around him, almost threatening, and she struggles to rein it back in.

As angry as she is right now, she would never forgive herself for hurting him, accident or not.

A sting of betrayal curls through her, Lucy's eyes going icy as she glares back at Laxus, realizing they've gone behind her back on a decision that might cost them all dearly. "That what?" she asks him coolly, hands curling into fists at her sides. "That we should declare war on Pergrande?"

The corner of his lips twitch and she knows she's right.

He's called for war on Pergrande before, arguing with Makarov about why they should fight back, why they should stop hiding in the shadows like rats. Laxus always expressed his disdain with hiding their magic, as weak as it is, letting it rot away inside their bodies with each generation. The Dreyar clan used to be filled with powerful magic users, yet they've been reduced to parlor tricks and silly pranks.

There was talk of war when she left, Laxus and Makarov at each others throats over what they should do. Laxus wanted to go to the Fae council in Crocus, the direct rule beneath Fiore's king. Though they aren't Faeborne themselves, the ruling family has always been fair to the Fae, perhaps knowing what an asset they could become. Where the Centari line of Pergrande took to stealing magic, slaughtering for it and painting their cities red, Fiore's approach was sly, manipulative. They're allowed to exist, but only if they maintain some kind of purpose, their magic to be used at the Crown's disposal.

Fiore has never done a damn thing to protect them. Not from Pergrande and its armies and not from the traders of Bosco, turning blind eyes to them and leaving the Fae to their own devices. They may be members of Fiore's society, but the Crown would never go to lengths to protect them.

They're better off than the Berserks, ignored but not mistreated.

Laxus, however, merely scoffs at her accusation, eyes rolling as he sends her a nasty look. "We've been talking about this for months," he reminds her, and though Lucy knows he means a time before she left, Lucy can't help the bitterness that curls through her.

"How could we?" she says, a biting edge to her words. Lucy looks at Laxus almost lazily, no heat to her gaze, though she can feel it bubbling just beneath the surface, clawing its way out from under her skin. "I wasn't here," Lucy reminds him, a small part of her hoping it hurts him. He never did want her to go to Pergrande, but they both know that if he asked her not to leave she wouldn't have.

But he didn't ask her, and she left all the same.

Their pride never has been kind to either of them. Lucy does things just to spite him, wanting to prove him wrong whenever she can. It's why she went after the stone in the first place, simply because he told her she couldn't, that she'd only get herself killed. And Laxus has always been too stubborn to say what he really means, coming off brash and hurtful instead of saying what he really wants.

Even now, she knows he really only wants to welcome her home and make sure she's okay, but it's the anger coming through instead. Anger at her leaving, anger that he couldn't stop her, fear that she wouldn't come home. She knows Natsu isn't helping. Laxus is nothing if not distrustful of strangers. He takes care of his own and no one else, loyal to a fault but scorning those he doesn't trust.

It took him ages to warm to Jellal, distrustful of the strange boy Makarov took in when he was younger. Jellal must have been seventeen at the time, no older than Romeo is now, and Lucy was younger, perhaps thirteen. Jellal and Laxus are nearly the same age, but even then Laxus carried himself with stones for skin, guarded at all times.

She knew bringing Natsu into this house how Laxus would react to it, but that doesn't mean she has to like it. And war wasn't something she was prepared for; worry and anger she can deal with, but war with Pergrande isn't something she's able to process so easily.

Her cousin is quiet for a long time.

Laxus eyes go cold, sharp as a knife. There's no warmth left, none of his previous joy from her return, only a blankness to mask the hurt he's hiding. "No," he agrees, taking a step away from her and straightening. "You weren't, were you."

Lucy bristles, stung by the underlying accusation, and she knows he's said precisely to get under her skin. "At least I did something," she spits back at him, jabbing a finger towards the necklace around her throat and taking a step forward so she's in his face. Laxus glances down at the gem around her neck, noticing it for the first time. The gold flickers in the light, and she feels several pairs of eyes flit to the jewel. "You're all talk Laxus," Lucy scoffs, shaking her head. "If you wanted a war so badly, you could have come with me."

"Then why didn't you kill the Centari when you had the chance?" Laxus asks her, curious, but it doesn't stop his anger from spilling through. He's changing the subject, avoiding her point, but she can't bring herself to care. Lucy thinks it might be a challenge as Laxus' gaze flicks to Natsu, wondering how much she told him about their plans.

Lucy finds herself laughing, short and bitter, and she sends Laxus a dirty look, unimpressed with his attitude. "And risk my head on a spike?" she asks, snorting softly. As easy as it would have been to kill him that morning, Lucy knows she wouldn't be standing here now if she did. "You think it would have been one Berserk sent after me if I committed regicide?" Laxus looks away from her briefly, wincing, and Lucy feels Natsu stiffen at her side, cringing away from her. "I'd be dead right now," she tells Laxus lowly. "Is that what you want?"

She gets a rise out of him like she was hoping for.

Sparks shoot from Laxus' fingers and his lips curl back. His fingers clench into tight fists and Lucy fights down a feeling of smugness, knowing that she's won this round.

"Don't pull that bullshit with me, Lucy," he snaps, looming over her in a way that should be threatening but only serves to infuriate her. She's never been afraid of Laxus, and his attempts at intimidating her to get his way have always been cause for her to snap. She glares up at him, but there's something pained in his eyes and for a moment she thinks she went too far. "You know I would never—"

She sighs. "Laxus—"

"You left for four months," he cuts her off sharply, sneering, and Lucy hears Romeo murmur something to Laxus, a warning note to his usually joyful voice. Laxus ignores him however, gaze focused solely on Lucy. "You left, and you come back and bring one of _them_ right to our door!"

The accusation makes her flinch, but she recovers quickly, ignoring the wind whipping around her as she snaps at him, "One of what, Laxus?" Lucy spits the words at him, a sour taste in her mouth. She wants him to say it. She wants him to tell her what he's really angry about, instead of dancing around it any longer. "What did I bring to our door?"

She's met with stark silence for a moment. No one breathes a word.

"Berserker," Laxus snaps back at her, the single word making her flinch. Lucy doesn't have to turn around to know the look on Natsu's face, and her heart squeezes as the image conjures in her mind. Laxus doesn't stop there, however, continuing when Lucy doesn't speak. "You brought a monster into our home."

Her breath catches slightly, a strange sound pulling from her throat as she remembers the Berserk Natsu fought in Pergrande, the ones they saw in Jorah. She remembers that she thought the same thing as Laxus once, plagued by the memories of them ripping her mother to pieces, leaving her scattered across the ground while Lucy could do nothing but sob.

Something inside her _snaps_.

The next thing she knows she's grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him down towards her, their noses nearly touching as she snarls at him. "Don't you _dare_ call him that, Laxus!" White hot anger floods her veins, ripping through her so quickly it scares her for a moment. But she shoves down that fear, letting the rage cloud her instead.

"Am I wrong?" he challenges her, ripping out of her grasp before his magic can shock her. Her own magic dims slightly, Lucy reminding herself that it's still Laxus and she doesn't wan to hurt him, even accidentally. "After everything they've done…" Laxus throws his head back in a laugh, expression incredulous. "Macao," he says suddenly, and Lucy goes very still as the name hits her like a blow. Romeo flinches, a soft sound pulling from his throat, and she winces. "Gina," Laxus continues, " _Layla_."

She takes a half-step away from him, stumbling slightly, and something horrible must be reflected on her face because for a moment Laxus sobers, expression twisting into something apologetic before it's swallowed by his anger once again.

It was a low blow and they both know it.

Her lips tremble as she takes a breath, hands shaking at her sides. "You don't know him," she reminds Laxus, a hard edge to her words, daring him to say anything else.

"I know enough," Laxus grumbles, eyeing her. His gaze slips to her arm, expression pinched, and her eyes snap to the ground. "How'd you two meet, Lucy?" he asks her, sarcasm dripping from his words. They both know the answer. "Hmm?" he prods. Laxus' hand lashes out, fingers curling around her upper arm as he jerks her around to see the pale scars on her arm. "You didn't fucking have that before you left."

A low growl spills from Natsu behind her, a warning, and Laxus turns his attention to the other man before Lucy can say a word. "You attack her?" he sneers, fingers tightening around Lucy's arm.

She jerks away from his grasp, shoving him a step backwards. Laxus trembles, lightning flickering from his fingers, and Lucy's stomach flips. "Laxus, stop!" she barks at him.

He doesn't listen, glaring at Berserk over her head.

"You try to kill her?" Laxus snarls, and something in Natsu's eyes must betray him, because Laxus starts to snap.

"Enough!" Makarov roars at them, fist slamming down onto the nearest table with a terrifying crack. The wood splits in two, splintering into pieces and crashing to the floor, and Lucy flinches, taking a step back from Laxus. Her cousin stills, breathing heavy, and glares at her, towering over Lucy by nearly two heads. His chest heaves with anger, lightning crackling across his fists.

Lucy's lips curve back over her teeth, a challenge in her eyes, and she considers ignoring her grandfather. Her magic picks up at the thought, swirling around her almost violently, and Laxus' eyes widen only the slightest, surprise creeping across his expression. It only lasts for a moment, Laxus shaking off his surprise, preparing to yell once again.

Her hands ball into fists, spine straightening as Laxus takes a step towards her.

"I said enough!" Makarov snaps.

Jellal shoves his way between them suddenly, pushing Laxus backwards to get him away from her, and Lucy feels a hand on her wrist, fingers gentle on her arm as they pull her away. For a moment she thinks it might be Natsu, but her head snaps around to find Romeo standing beside her, blue eyes apologetic and expression pinched as he looks between her and Laxus, unsure what to do. Romeo never has been one for getting between them when they argue like this, knowing it's usually safer for all of them if they just get it all out.

They've always brought out the best and worst in each other. Laxus' arrogance and lack of tact brings out a nasty side of her sometimes, and Lucy has a way of getting under his skin just as easily. Much like her magic, she tends to feed the fire. They rarely argue about anything, but when they do it can be explosive. Lucy could probably count on one hand the number of times they've really fought before.

Laxus typically has a level head and Lucy doesn't consider herself particularly quick to anger, so things never reach a magnitude where they need to be stopped like this.

Lucy glances behind her younger brother, noticing Natsu still standing in the threshold of the room, gaze wary as he stares at her, expression borderline cold as his eyes meet hers. Something twists in her gut, Lucy suddenly feeling sick. There's no anger there, no fear, no betrayal, nothing. His gaze is as empty as it was the first time they met and that scares her for a moment.

Anger she can handle. She can take growling and pacing and snapping, but the blankness in his eyes makes something squeeze in her chest. There's no life there, only a husk, and the last time she saw that expression she nearly died.

Her throat tightens, a lump welling there, and Lucy can't swallow it down. Her fingers uncurl, hands trembling slightly, and Lucy feels her pulse quicken as Natsu's empty eyes lock on hers. An icy finger traces down her spine and she inhales sharply, curling in on herself only the slightest.

Something in his eyes flicker, but it's gone before Lucy can recognize it, that terrible blankness overtaking him a moment later. His jaw clenches, fists shaking at his sides, and the paint on the inside of her wrist suddenly feels itchy for the first time in days.

Eventually she rips her eyes away from his, stung by the underlying accusation there, one she knows she deserves. She turns to Makarov instead, feeling the fight bleed from her slowly, her pulse slowing to a normal rate. "Gramps," she murmurs, throat tightening as she sees him take a step forward.

Lucy is suddenly hit with an intense wave of emotion as he hobbles forward. Tears burn at her eyes, and she chokes up, unable to say anything else. An ill feelings she has slip away, her lips twisting into a small smile when Makarov looks at her. Romeo's hand settles on her back, warm and reassuring, and even Laxus softens as he sees her tears.

Makarov clears his throat suddenly, expression becoming stern as he turns to Laxus, a hardness to his eyes. "There is no war," he says lowly, tilting his chin to meet Laxus' eyes. Expression never wavering, Makarov simply holds Laxus' gaze, his stiff posture daring the younger man to argue with him.

Laxus doesn't back down. His lips curve back in a snarl and a sizzling sound flicks through the air, lightning jumping between his fingers. A low sound pulls from his chest, an enraged rumbling, and Laxus begins to argue. "We decided—"

Their grandfather cuts him off sharply. "We decided on nothing, Laxus," he reminds him, calm, but with a steel edge to his words. "I am still head of this home so long as I breathe," Makarov tells him firmly, "and we will not start a war we cannot finish." Silence is all that greats him, Laxus expression twisting into something sour. He sneers but doesn't respond, making Makarov sigh. "Do I make myself clear?" Again, he gains no response. "We have argued over this for months, and the representatives—"

"Damn the representatives!" Laxus growls, shaking his head with a sneer before glaring down at Makarov, whose hand tightens around the walking stick in his grasp, knuckles white with the pressure. "They're all old cowards." Laxus' accusation lies thick between them.

Makarov's expression goes cold, a chill seeping into the room, all the warmth sapped away. "And am I also an old coward, Laxus?" The younger man's eyes widen, and his jaw clicks shut before he winces. Shame flickers in Laxus' eyes, but he doesn't breathe a word, much to Makarov's satisfaction.

"That's what I thought," Makarov murmurs, snorting and shaking his head. He sighs, eyes growing tired as he looks between his grandchildren, lips pursed. "Nothing has been decided," he says, speaking to Lucy, and she closes her eyes briefly, releasing a relieved breath. "Nothing will be decided," he continues quickly, turning back to Laxus. "Not now. Not for some time."

"We don't have time," Laxus argues weakly, seeming to soften slightly when he glances at Lucy. His magic flickers out, his temper cooled once again.

Frowning, Makarov spares Laxus one last look. "Make time," he demands. "Lucy only just returned to us, Laxus," he reminds the man, "are you so inclined to lose her again?" It gains him a flinch from Laxus, which seems to satisfy the old man. "Good," he cheers, a note of finality to the word, though Lucy knows the discussion is only over temporarily. "Now, Lucy dear," Makarov turns to her with a large grin, holding out his arms to her, "come over her and give me a hug."

Laughing lightly, Lucy takes a step towards him, falling into his arms easily. His own arms come to curl around her in return, pulling her close, and she sinks into the familiar embrace, sighing at the comforting feeling of being wrapped up in her grandfather's arms. Tears burn at her eyes once more, but she blinks them away, relishing in the knowledge that she's home.

She's home.

He gives her a gentle squeeze before she's suddenly pulled from his arms and crushed against Laxus' chest. She yelps, but he only winds his arms around her in a brief hug, lifting her straight off the ground for a split second and then releasing her. Lucy sends him a nasty look, but there's no heat to it, and he only grins before patting her on the head.

Romeo pulls her in next, twirling her around and pulling her into another hug, not nearly as tight as the first, but smothering nonetheless. Giggling, Lucy tosses her arms around his neck, letting him cling to her. A stare burns into the side of her face, and Lucy's eyes spring open, locking with a pair of jaded green eyes.

She stills in Romeo's grasp, but Natsu only watches her warily, staring for a long moment before spinning on his heel. Lucy jolts, his name on her lips, but the words stick in her throat as she tries to call after him.

The room rattles as the door shuts behind him.

* * *

 **AN: Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.**


	38. Arc Two: Chapter 2

**AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter Two**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

The words keep repeating in his head. A war. Just another damn war. It's always a war. That's all the Berserks are good for anymore. Fighting. Killing. Giving in to the beasts. It's always another fight. The shouting drifts into background noise, his ears ringing sharply as the voices rise in pitch. Lucy shouts something, but the words are lost to him, drowned by the pounding of his pulse. The accusations strike him, Natsu unable to peel his eyes from the four small, silver scars on Lucy's arm and the scabbed line beneath it.

The sight knocks the breath straight from his lungs, a wheezing gasp ripping from his chest. Something tight curls around his throat, squeezing, and for a moment his mind blanks.

Cool metal wraps around his neck, growing hot to the touch as it presses tight to his skin. The gold glows, searing his flesh, and Natsu flinches as he feels the sharp sting of something pressing against his temple. It worms through his mind, curling in the darkest corners of his thoughts, smothering his conscious. The pain grows, his head pounding and a strangle sound leaves him as he squeezes his eyes shut. Something inside his mind tears, an arc of pain shooting down his spine.

He twitches, jerking oddly, and Natsu bites his lip to keep from screaming at the phantom sensation around his throat. Tears burn at his eyes, but he holds them back. Natsu's nails dig into his palms and his teeth grind together audibly, but no one turns his way.

A familiar voice breathes against his ear, telling him to kill, to fight. Whispers of war tickle at his senses, the blood in his veins boiling as his expression goes blank. Darkness begins to swallow his thoughts, vague wisps of conversation flickering through the haze.

With a gasp it all disappears. The burning at his throat is gone, never there to begin with, and his tunnel vision expands, Natsu's gaze snapping around the unfamiliar room as he regains his bearings. He isn't in Pergrande anymore. He's in Fiore, with Lucy.

He isn't a soldier—a _weapon_ —anymore.

For a moment the thought is enough to calm him, but then snippets of Lucy and Laxus' argument comes back to him. She knew. The entire time they were together she knew, and she never told him. The sting of betrayal is foreign to him. Something in his chest squeezes painfully, and he grits his teeth to avoid making a sound, not wanting to draw anymore attention to himself.

His eyes snap open a moment before Lucy looks at him, expression wary. Her mouth forms his name, lips trembling, and Natsu is lost in the gold of her eyes. For the first time since they've met he can't stand the color.

Eyes ripping from hers, Natsu turns away without a word, finally snapping.

Natsu doesn't think as he slams the door shut behind him. The wood bangs loudly, the house quivering with the force behind it, and Natsu winces, fearing something might crack beneath his touch. The thought it shoved from his mind, buried somewhere deep, and he releases a heavy exhale, nostrils flaring.

He didn't hesitate once as he stormed from the room or stop to consider the hurt he saw in Lucy's eyes—the _panic_. He had to get out of that house before he did something he would regret. Not for the first time he curses his lack of control,

Panting slightly, Natsu grits his teeth in a poor attempt to steady his breathing, his skin crawling sickly as something claws to the surface. A growl rumbles in his chest, his lips curving back over his teeth threateningly, and Natsu shakes himself, trying to shove down the anger and hurt building in his stomach.

There's an explanation for it all, there has to be, but he can't stay in that house, not without breaking something. Natsu's hands curl into tight fists and his teeth grind together slowly as he stalks away from the stone building. Any warmth he felt from the building is gone now, a layer of ice curling through his veins and coiling around his heart. Something in his chest squeezes, knocking the breath from him. He ignores it, shaking off the betrayal stinging at his skin.

Natsu pauses at the cobblestone road. One glance towards town and he shakes his head. He can't go there, not alone. Natsu doesn't know much about Magnolia or how they treat outsiders, but he doesn't want to find out while he's alone and volatile. At best he'd be lucky to leave with his life.

A lot has changed in the ten years he's been cone from Fiore, but some things never change. The Domus Flau is still active in Crocus, but he hadn't thought to ask Lucy about the rest of the country. He doubts the Berserks are treated any better than they were in Bosco, but at least he was allowed to walk the streets then.

His gaze latches onto the Cathedral, High towers and stained glass glittering in the light. Natsu stares for a long moment, feet stuck in place as he watches the licker of color glinting off the tall, bone-white walls of the towering building. The bell tolls overhead, sending a scattering of dark birds into the sky, the flock startled, though they continue to come back. Clear and loud, the bell is the sweetest sound he's ever heard beside Lucy's laugh.

Natsu's skin prickles at the thought, but he watches the bell tower for another moment, until the chiming trickles into nothingness and the birds swarm back to their roost, always returning to where they belong.

Ripping his gaze from the sight, Natsu winces, shaking his head to rid himself of his thoughts, and turns away from town, a bitterness weaving into his bones as he turns towards the forest. Dark and looming, he doesn't hesitate to slip through the trees, letting them swallow him entirely as he runs.

He pays little attention to where he goes, the trees blurring around him as he weaves between them, uncaring as he loses himself among them. For a moment he's reminded that he doesn't know how to get back, the area unfamiliar to him, but it shoves the thought aside, assuring himself he can get back.

Lucy's scent is burned into his mind. He could find his way back to her through anything is he wanted. He's tracked her twice, once before he even knew her, and the smell of honey and stardust will cling to him for years. Natsu inhales sharply, her taste familiar in his mouth as it tickles the back of his throat, soothing.

Shaking his head, Natsu sighs, pace slowing as he winds through the trees, thoughts drifting. The forest isn't quiet like it was in Pergrande, hollow and dead in some ways. Birds chirp above him, small animals skittering across the ground, near silent save for his sharp ears. From the corner of his eye, Natsu spots something large and dark, ambling without a care.

His head snaps up, eyes locking on the slow moving figure. The Demigor blinks back at him, almost docile, and Natsu's breath catches as he watches it move. It's taller than a bear, stocky and slow moving, sluggish. The creature eyes him warily for a moment before deciding he's no threat. Several spines on its back flex, long quills rattling together noisily. Yawning, it reveals rows of sharp teeth, wicked fangs flashing in the light spilling between the leaves.

Lucy compared Laxus to one once, calling him prickly and grinning at him, and Natsu snorts in agreement.

The sounds of the forest lull him slightly, though only for a moment before the gravity of the situation comes back to him, knocking the breath from his lungs. Cold fingers wrap around his heart and squeeze, dragging a low whine from him, and Natsu's eyes slam shut, his teeth grinding together as he fights to ignore the pounding in his head. The beast hiding beneath his rib cage stirs awake, his rage spilling through the cracks in his resolve. Natsu's nails dig into his palms, drawing blood, and his fists tremble at his sides.

Blood leaks from the fresh cuts on his palms, sliding along his skin slowly. A dull throb comes from the small wounds, but the feeling is masked by the rush of heat that burns through his veins. Natsu's temper flares, rising to an uncontrollable level as a red haze clouds his vision. He's gotten better at controlling the bloodlust. Natsu hasn't lost control of himself since meeting Lucy, but something inside his aches to be let go.

Years of being forced into a cage—of being turned into a monster and a weapon flood back to him. A decade of hatred and rage boils beneath his skin, Natsu unable to simply breathe as he recalls the rings, the damp cages he's been forced into for much of his life, his mother selling him despite knowing what would happen.

He wants to fight—wants to lose control and rip something to pieces. He tries to shake the thought away, knowing it isn't really him, but the haze persists, the creature long kept buried in his chest clawing through flesh and bone to reach the surface. Rage floods through Natsu, washing away the unease clawing at his heart and replacing it with something much more violent. The beast squirms in his chest, fighting to be released. Natsu's iron will slips, control faltering for a moment and that's all it takes.

Something inside of him snaps and he screams as he whips around, driving his fist into the nearest tree. A crack splits the air, the wood splintering beneath his touch. He doesn't feel the wood shards digging into his skin or smell the blood coating his fingers. His surroundings blur, the forest going silent as he swings a second fist towards the same tree.

A flock of crows shoot into the air from a neighboring tree as Natsu roars, a sound more animal than man ripping from his throat. The Demigor startles, dashing off into the trees in terror, and Natsu throws a third punch towards the quivering tree. Something snaps, bone or bark he doesn't care.

Natsu spends some time beating the tree, the sun slipping high into the sky and the forest going dark and silent. The light casts mottled shadows across the ground as the anger bleeds from him, slipping between his fingers like water.

He stumbles slightly, the red haze leaving his vision, his head clearing. Natsu presses a hand to the ruined bark, trembling, and winces at the splinters pressing into his calloused palms. Chest heaving, he shakes himself, falling boneless against the tree he's mangled. Natsu gasps for breath, forehead dropping to rest against the rough bark of the tree, his heart pounding from the adrenalin rushing through him.

Hands shaking, Natsu sighs, a soft sound of distress pulling from his throat. He bites his lip until it bleeds, taking breathes to calm himself. A sickness curls through his stomach, like a pit, and he groans. Letting go is supposed to help, keeping it contained for too long is dangerous, but Natsu only feels worse.

It's only been making him feel worse. With the collar on he couldn't feel anything, couldn't see the fear he sparked in peoples eyes or remember their screams. He couldn't feel anything. Now, Natsu remembers it all: how easily the tree splintered beneath his touch, how the forest went quiet and dark.

He doesn't know which is worse, just that both leave him feeling drained and sick.

Slowly, he peels himself away from the tree, breathing steadily through his nose and trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. Weary, Natsu lowers his head, gazing at the leaves strewn across the slick ground beneath him, the smell of rain thick in the air. Standing on unsteady legs, Natsu shakes himself, ambling forward absentmindedly.

Natsu doesn't know how to feel, being back in Fiore. Along with the good memories come bad ones. His time in the capital was tame compared to what he faced in Pergrande. He had friends in Crocus, Igneel and several of the younger Berserks, none quite as young as him at the time. They were an odd family, of sorts, but it was the closest he's ever had to one.

He doesn't remember his father, the only image that comes to mind when he thinks of the man is Igneel. The older Berserk is the only father he's ever needed. And Natsu finds a bitter taste left in his mouth whenever he thinks of his mouth, her weary eyes and the gold pieces in her hands as she sold him to slave traders from Bosco.

Sneering, he shakes his head. Natsu doesn't care for her reasons, though he knows there must have been one. They're nothing more than excuses to him. What his family did was unforgivable. He's spent near two decades being forced to do things, fighting, killing, anything others wanted from him, and he's grown sick of it.

Fiore is still a cruel place to him. Natsu wasn't expecting a warm welcome from Lucy's family, but somehow he expected something different. Lucy was so accepting of him despite what he did. She may not have been friendly at first, but she warmed to him easily enough. Her cousin's hostility surprised him, though he understands.

He can't blame them for being afraid, not when he scares himself at times.

Natsu stumbles over a branch, catching himself before he can fall, and curses under his breath, drained, but unable to shove down the rage still prickling at his skin, flaring as he dredges up old memories. He knows his thoughts aren't helping him, the red haze threatening to overtake him for a second time today, but he's too exhausted to shove it back.

The silence of the woods unnerves him, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Ignoring the feeling, Natsu presses on, allowing his thoughts to consume him as he sinks further and further into the haze surrounding him. He wants to break something. He wants to scream and shatter bone and allow the monster inside of him to claw its way out of his chest.

It would be easier, to just let go, but he never has been one to give up. And certainly not now. He could have given up when he was young, trapped in the cages in Crocus with strangers jeering at him and violence curling though the air he breathed. And he could have given up after years of serving Pergrande. Yet here he is now.

A stick snaps beneath his boots, leaves crackling, and Natsu's pace quickens as he absentmindedly weaves through the towering trees. A skittering sound reaches him, a mouse or other small animal darting through the tall grass and there's a flutter of wings above him, the birds settling once more, his outburst forgotten.

Natsu's teeth grind together, temper quelled for the moment. His knuckles sting, bones throbbing from the force of his hits, and he winces when his fingers flex, joints stiff. Looking down at the blood crusting his hands, Natsu flinches, upset with himself for losing control the way he did. If anyone had still been around—

He cringes at the thought, knowing someone could have easily gotten hurt.

That's the last thing he wants to do, but Natsu can't keep shoving aside the anger bubbling inside of him. He's kept it locked away for years, having no proper release for all the rage and hatred. It amazes him that he's been able to keep it from spilling over for so long, but Laxus' words seemed to snap something inside of him.

They're starting a war.

His stomach twists violently, his lips curving back over his teeth as he snarls. He won't be anyone's weapon, not again. He won't be forced to hurt and kill anymore. Natsu refuses to have his body be used for something like that again, not after what he did to Lucy or any of the other innocent people he's hurt in the past.

Natsu won't be a tool anymore, something to be used.

" _My advice,"_ a voice whispers in his mind, low and familiar, and Natsu stills. The phantom sensation of a hand on his arm makes him pause, jaw clenching tightly as he recalls the words circling in his mind. It's been days since he thought of them, too caught up in Lucy's awakening and his nerves about entering Fiore, meeting her family. He'd nearly forgotten the conversation he had in Bosco, the words becoming lost in his jumbled thoughts.

Magi's words come back to him in a rush, her warning branded into his mind. Her husband was murdered by the Pergrande king for existing, for running away and making a life for himself. Magi didn't say it, but Natsu knows their children were likely killed as well for the blood running through them, as diluted as it may have been. Or perhaps the king took them instead. A life for a life. He could bend them to his will if they were young enough.

Natsu doesn't know which fate would be crueler, but he can only pray the Old Gods were kind to them, even in death.

He has a choice to make, but few good options. Natsu is finding that there rarely are decent options, only ones that hurt less than others. If he runs, he'll never be able to stop, always looking over his shoulder, paranoid that something is coming for him. It won't be a life worth living, constantly afraid for himself and the people around him. Domus Centari will never stop chasing him, not so long as Natsu can still be found.

The king of Pergrande has always been a cruel man, taking sick pleasure in destroying others from the inside out. He toys with people for no other reason than enjoyment and its never made Natsu anything short of sick. He's seen people ripped apart and strewn across the ground, he's been forced to fight men and Berserks alike, every movement followed by an amused gaze.

Natsu shakes himself, footsteps slowing as wanders into a small clearing. A frown pulls at his lips, his gaze flitting around the open space, few trees growing in the area, those he can see smaller than those deeper in the forest, spread farther apart. Confusion sweeps through him as he observes the vacant copse in the middle of the woods, the grass tall and bushes and vines curling across the grass. He finds it odd for a moment, noting a stream winding through the grassy space, but stills when he sees the large tree centered in the thicket.

An Ellyra stands tall, towering over the surrounding space and basking in the light. The branches curl overhead, long and winding, dotted with a spattering of garnet leaves, vibrant against the stark bone-white of the trunk and branches. It's much larger than those he and Lucy saw in Pergrande, the trunk thicker and the branches stretching further across the space. Gnarled roots protrude from the earth, twisted and knocking together where the tree rests beside a small pool of water.

He finds himself drawn to the Fairy tree, a whisper in his head beckoning him forward as the aged tree calls to him. He hasn't heard their voices in some time, the trees sparse in Mithriel. The branches sway in time with a phantom breeze, a voice reaching his ears, though Natsu can't make out the words.

A half-formed plea is hissed from the tree—his name, and Natsu startles, sure he's just heard Lucy's voice. He shakes himself, the tree speaking garbled nonsense and nothing more, and takes a breath to steady his erratic heartbeat.

Wetting his lips, he decides to ignore the voice, even as it continues to whisper to him in a voice chillingly reminiscent as someone he loves. Something twists in his chest the longer the voice speaks, Natsu aware of the legends surrounding the Ellyra, how they house the souls of dead Fae and speak with their voices.

It's unsettling, hearing it speak to him in Lucy's voice, but try as he might, he can't ignore it, catching snippets of conversations not meant for him. A soft humming sound reaches his ears as the tree begins to sing, soft and breathy, the melody similar to a song Lucy sang to him once.

Natsu wonders if she learned it here.

Slowly, he settles against the base of the tree, curled among the roots. The rough bark scrapes at his back, though he hardly feels it, content to rest against the singing tree, knowing it'll warn him of anything coming. Natsu's learned to put his faith in them, aware that they won't allow harm to come to him.

He stretches out his legs, staring into the clear pool of water absently.

Natsu doesn't know how long he sits there beneath the tree, unaware of the time passing as he stares into the forest, but the tree suddenly quiets after some time, and Natsu glances up as he hears a branch snap off to his right.

He doesn't have to look to know who it is, Lucy's scent tickling his nose.

Natsu doesn't turn as she approaches, those his eyes follow her. Lucy doesn't look at him, weary gaze locked on the Ellyra as she comes close, stopping only a few paces from him, just out of reach. For a long moment she says nothing, merely raises a hand and runs her fingers along the tree trunk, tracing a pattern in the bark.

"The Sola Tree," she tells him suddenly, and Natsu's head snaps around to look at her as Lucy leans into the arbor, sighing softly as her eyes flutter shut. Her entire body relaxes, a softness overtaking her that he never noticed before. "It's been here for generations." Her fingertips drag downward, ghosting the wood. "Makarov says it offers guidance to those who need it most. He said it speaks, but I've never heard it." Lucy laughs and Natsu's eyes widen in surprise. "I'm not surprised you found it," she continues softly. "Somehow people always find their way here. The tree calls to them."

She waits for him to speak, but when he doesn't, Lucy sighs.

He tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat when he turns to her. Something cold winds through his chest, cool fingers squeezing around his heart, and Natsu knows she isn't here to tell him stories. Lucy doesn't try to speak again, waiting for him to acknowledge her, and finally he forces himself to say something.

"Did you know?" he forces himself to ask, swallowing thickly as he turns away from her. His jaw clenches as he waits for her response. Natsu hears her shaky intake of breath, Lucy's hand stilling against the tree, her fingers curling into a tight ball. She hesitates, biting her lip, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting his cheek to keep himself calm.

Lucy sighs, slow and melancholy and he thinks it's answer enough, but he needs to hear it from her. A bitter taste floods his mouth, Natsu hoping to the Gods it isn't true, but somehow he knows.

She turns to face him, shifting slightly, and her heartbeat quickens. "Natsu—"

"Did you know?" Natsu repeats, a sharp edge to his words. A low sound rumbles in his throat, and Natsu's eyes snap open to meet hers, watching as she winces. He stands slowly, movements stiff, and his hands shake as he turns to her. He doesn't stalk towards her, fighting the urge to come closer.

Her lips part, eyes dark and shaded by the tree. Lucy takes a deep breath, eyes rising to meet his, and Natsu is unsurprised by the guilt he sees there. His heart squeezes as he sees her standing there, the sunlight turning her hair gold and the leaves casting shadows across her face, Lucy catching the light where she stands: breathtaking. "I did," she whispers, voice carrying across the grove.

Wincing, Natsu shakes his head. Lucy watches him, waiting, and Natsu takes a step towards her, feet moving without permission. She eyes him, wary, and an ache spreads through his chest. His mouth goes dry as he comes up to her, hesitating when she's within reach. Hard eyes lock with hers, Lucy waiting for him to speak.

Natsu clears his throat, biting his cheek roughly and forcing himself not to shout. "Is that why you brought—" He cuts himself off, not wanting to say it, but the question rings clear regardless.

Lucy's eyes widen, and she jolts like she's been struck. "No!" she snaps at him, hair whipping around her face as she shakes her head. "Gods, Natsu, no," she tells him, softer this time. Lucy voice quivers, the words shaky, but they don't like a lie to him. Hurt flickers in her eyes, the accusation stinging, and Natsu almost regrets asking.

He wants to trust her, but he's been used before.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he murmurs lowly, a growl lacing his words. His fingers tighten into fists once more, muscles tensing the longer he stares at Lucy.

She pushes away from the tree, crossing the short distance between them, and reaches out for him. Her fingers still before touching him, hovering just above his skin. "I wasn't thinking," she tells him, wincing as she says it. It's a weak answer and they both know it. Lucy's fingers brush against his shoulders, her palms trembling.

Natsu's throat tightens.

She's afraid.

He steps away before she can touch him, bile rising in his throat when he sees a nervous flicker in her eyes at his jerky movements. "You weren't thinking?" he snaps without meaning to, and her gaze drops to the ground, her arms curling protectively around herself. "Lucy, how could you—"

"I was dying, Natsu," she hisses back at him, the venom in her words making him flinch. The reminder slams into his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs, and his teeth snap together harshly. "Half the time I could barely _think_ ," Lucy tells him, voice cracking. Her gaze becomes watery and he winces, guilt pooling in his gut. "And with everything that was happening, I just…" Lucy shakes her head, exhaustion marring her features.

For a moment, Natsu sees her the way she was: pale and sick with a faint heartbeat, barely breathing. He winces at the flicker, turning away, reminding himself that she's still sick, even if she's pretending she's not.

Lucy is quiet for a long moment, and Natsu sneers, twisting on his heel and stalking away.

"I wouldn't ask you to!" Lucy calls after him suddenly, making him pause. Natsu stops at the tree line, glancing back at her. She doesn't look at him, staring up the tree before her. A breeze blows by ruffling her hair gently, and Lucy's squeeze shut. "To fight," she clarifies when he stays silent. "I would never ask you to fight. Not after everything you've been through."

She reaches out slowly, dragging her fingers down the trunk of the tree. Seconds pass, and finally she turns to him, her honey gold eyes apologetic. There's no hint of a lie there, but Natsu still sighs. Staring at Lucy, her hair falling in tangles down her back and her eyes the sweetest thing he's ever seen, Natsu knows he would fight if she asked him to.

Magi told him to make a choice, but he didn't think he'd have to make it so soon. He's been tired of running from the past for years, but the fight scares him more than anything. Staying—fighting against Pergrande—would only be putting others at risk. It would put Lucy at risk, and that's the last thing he wants. She'll just keep being hurt because of him.

Magi told him to just keep running.

"Why did you ask me to stay?" he chokes out, staring across the distance between them. For the first time, looking at Lucy hurts, something inside of him begging to draw her in close to him, to never let go.

She turns slowly, the rune on her arm bright against her skin: proud. Lucy smiles, small and sad. "The same reason you said 'yes.' "

* * *

 **AN:** **Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.**


	39. Arc Two: Chapter 3

**AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!**

 **EDITED 5/29/18. Edited dialogue to mention Cobra.**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter Three**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

Three days.

That's how long Natsu's been gone.

Sighing to herself, Lucy reaches through the open window, a cool breeze tickling at her skin as she runs a finger along the edge of one of the old plant boxes decorating their home. Deft fingers avoid a splintered section of wood, tracing a swirled pattern engraved in the white wood. Lucy bites her lower lip, staring out the window absentmindedly, the glow of the moon shining throughout the open room. The silence disturbs her for the first time in years, the house too quiet. She's used to Natsu being beside her, his presence louder than anything she's ever known, but now the quiet seems to slink into the places he occupied for so many weeks.

It should be familiar to her, the quiet, the moment of piece as she finds herself the last one awake in the night. Laxus is an early riser, spending his days working at Makarov's forge outside, crafting weapons for their grandfather to enchant. And Romeo, young as he is, enjoys his hours of sleep, his energy burning out with the sunlight. Makarov is up late into the night, but she rarely sees him, the old man tinkering away at some project of his, hidden away in his workshop or practicing spells in his room.

The darkest part of the night is when she finds herself alone.

 _It was strange, walking back into the house alone after Natsu ran off. Laxus was the first one to see her when she stepped inside. He didn't say a word as their gazes locked, appearing unconcerned, save for the slight narrowing of his eyes, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he glared at her. His eyes flickered behind her for a moment, watching for Natsu._

 _The Berserk didn't come in after her, however._

 _Lucy tried to ignore the cold feeling creeping through her chest and avoided Laxus' heavy gaze, focusing instead on Romeo and Makarov. While her grandfather merely watched as she stepped further into the room, Romeo slipped away from his seat at the table across from Laxus, hurrying over to her and tossing his arms around her in a suffocating hug. The embrace pulled at her stiff shoulder and Romeo's hands prodded a sore spot on her side, but she clung to him regardless, burying her face against his shoulder._

 _Quivering, Lucy tucked herself into the crook of his neck, Romeo's shaggy hair tickling at her cheek. She stretched up on her toes to loop her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly, and Romeo gripped her back twice as hard. They stood that way for a long moment, Lucy feeling the weight of her family's eyes on her, trying to figure out how much she'd changed since she left, wondering if she was the same Lucy as they remembered._

 _She couldn't be sure that she was anymore, and that scared her in ways she didn't quite understand. She wanted to be the same as she was, but so much had changed in so many months._

" _I missed you," Romeo whispered against her hair, the jewelry hanging from his ear cool against her skin. He didn't have it the last time she saw him, the iron and sapphire new. A traveling market must have come through Magnolia while she was away, traders from Minstrel always come in the fall. She wished she had been here to see it. Lucy could only imagine the look on Romeo's face when he got that. It must have been better than the expression Laxus made when he got his. Romeo had always worn his emotions plain on his face._

 _Lucy sighed and allowed her eyes to slip shut, sinking into her brother's familiar embrace with ease, content for the first time in weeks. She was home now. After everything that happened, she was finally home. "I missed you, too," she murmured back, voice muffled by his jacket, the fabric soft against her cheek._

 _Eventually, she pulled back, just enough to really look at him. Her lips parted, a joke on her tongue, but she choked up when she saw him. Her hands shook when she moved them to his cheeks, cupping his face. A watery laugh tore from her chest, tears brimming in her eyes as she looked Romeo over, seeing someone strange yet painfully familiar. "You're taller," she forced out, voice cracking slightly._

 _Something wet slid down her cheek._

 _Romeo grinned, blue eyes bright with something fond. He leaned into her touch, raising one hand to the side of her face to brush away her tear, the pad of his thumb rough against her skin. "Your hair is longer," he quipped in response, fingers sliding from her cheekbone to a lock of her hair. He tugged the strands lightly, laughing when she huffed at him._

 _A moment later, Lucy merely laughed. "So is yours." She reached up to pull at a long strand much like he did to her, Romeo's hair shaggy after the several months she'd been gone. He never had been good at cutting his own hair, and Lucy wouldn't have trusted Laxus or Makarov to do it, the latter half-blind and absent minded and Laxus too rough. He cut her hair once when she was younger, and it had been a mistake she wouldn't make a second time._

 _She clucked her tongue as she continued looking him over, Romeo the same, yet entirely different from what she remembered. He'd grown up since she left, not nearly as spindly as he used to be. It was subtle, a few inches grown and his shoulders a bit broader, but it was like staring at someone new._

 _Slowly, she reached out to flick his earring, the sapphire flashing in the light as the gem dangled from his lobe. He yelped at her action, startled, and sent her a mock angry look, lips twitching in amusement. Lucy grinned back at him. "This is new," she noted, poking it again, watching it sway in fascination._

" _It reminded me of yours," Romeo told her. She wasn't sure whether it was a joke or not, his expression unreadable. Romeo smiled at her, but there was something cloudy in his gaze, his eyes dark, like the sky before a storm._

Lucy's finger curl around the stem of a silvery flower outside the window, snapping it easily and drawing it inside, away from the wind and the autumn chill creeping through the air. Cradling the delicate flower in her hand, Lucy frowns, tracing a silvery petal with the tip of her finger as she hums to herself, anything to drown out the silence.

She twists the stem between her thumb and forefinger, watching as the soft petals glint in the moonlight. Her eyes follow the flower's movement as she settles back into the bench beneath her, cushions soft against her sore muscles. Lucy never realizes how tired she was until she came home, body aching. It's strange not to be walking several miles every day.

In a way, she's growing restless.

"Moonlace," a voice speaks up from behind her. Lucy head snaps up in surprise, and she turns quickly. Makarov smiles back at her from the doorway, a hand resting on the wall and a familiar twinkle in his eyes. "You bought a single plant at the markets nearly a decade ago," he reminds her gently, stepping further into the room. Lucy grins, turning back to the open window as her grandfather settles onto the opposite end of the bench seat. "Now I can never seem to get rid of the stuff."

It pulls a slight laugh from her, Lucy again tracing the delicate petals. The Moonlace isn't yet in full bloom, not for a few more days until the moon is at its peak. It's a silly little plant, the blossoms only opening near midnight, reflecting the light of the moon on their glossy petals. They only grow naturally in Enca, where the Fae hail from. It's finicky, needing the right touch to grow, but spreads quickly once it adapts.

Lucy was only ten or eleven when she bought a flower from the markets with what little she managed to save, a few copper pieces enough to buy the plant, though Lucy's sure the shopkeeper was selling it for far less than its worth. It nearly died within the first cycle of the moon, Lucy was never particularly good with plants as a child, but her mother nurtured the stalk, teaching Lucy how to care for it. That was one of the last things her mother ever taught her.

They've been growing wild around their home ever since. Magnolia is the only place in all of Fiore to grow Moonlace, the plants abundant, growing in vines up the stone walls of their home and overgrown in the window boxes where they were first planted. They sell them, sometimes, during festivals, Makarov eager to get rid of some of them, always bemoaning the large blossoms swallowing his home.

"Please," she scoffs, twirling the stem between her fingers, watching as it flickers in the moonlight, "you love them." Lucy glances at his out of the corner of her eye, Makarov's expression fond as he looks between her and the flower.

His business in sleep tonics wouldn't be half of what they are without Moonlace. While the plants have no magical properties themselves, the petals are sweet, with Makarov grinding them into dust to mix into his potions, making them easier to go down. Lucy's been taking his tonics since she was young, and as a child the bitter taste was hard to swallow and upsetting to her stomach.

It wasn't until he started adding Moonlace petals that she could take the tonics without becoming sick.

"I do," Makarov agrees, chuckling. He reaches out the window to pluck his own flower, wrinkled fingers stroking the petals lovingly. He brings the bud to his nose, inhaling deeply and allowing the scent to overwhelm him, the scent calming. "They are one of my favorites, but they choke the life from the other plants." His nose wrinkles, eyes narrowing down at the flower. "Vicious little things," he mumbles.

Lucy smiles. "You could cut them back."

He sends her an unimpressed look, raising a brow. "Cutting back Moonlace is bad luck," he chides, waving a finger in her direction. Lucy rolls her eyes, shaking her head at the claim, knowing a fib when she hears one.

"You're making that up," she argues, grinning at her grandfather, who chuckles in response, winking. He always has been quite the storyteller, able to weave extravagant tales from nothing. The stories he told her, both true and of his own creation, are the kind that stay with people.

He doesn't respond to the claim, expression mischievous as he plays with the stem between his fingers. They lapse into silence once again, and Lucy's thoughts begin to drift back to Natsu. She has no idea where he went, disappearing into the trees without a word to her, gone before she could call him back.

Makarov sighs, a long, low rumble that seems all too loud in the quiet of the night. "He will come back, Lucy," Makarov promises gently, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. His fingers curl around her upper arm, giving a gentle squeeze and Lucy peels her gaze away from the tree line, leaning into his touch after a moment.

Her gaze meets his, her own exhaustion reflected in his eyes. "You don't know that." He didn't see the look in Natsu's eyes, the hurt. He looked at her like he didn't trust her, and it felt more like a blow than anything he could have thrown at her. She'll never be able to forget that look.

Natsu stared at her for a long moment after she spoke, eyes wide. He went so still Lucy wasn't sure if he was breathing or not, his gaze locked on hers, searching for a lie. And then he was simply gone, turning his back on her and running off into the trees. He didn't answer her calls, and she didn't bother chasing after him, knowing he didn't want to be found.

And it's been three days and he's still not back. Lucy doesn't know if he _will_ come back.

"I know everything," Makarov jokes, grip tightening on her reassuringly, but his words fall flat. Lucy isn't in the mood for humor, though she appreciates him trying.

She didn't expect coming home to be easy, but she didn't know it would be like this. Laxus hasn't said more than a handful of words to her since she came back, the pair in something of a standoff after their last argument. He greets her in the morning and at night, but does little else. It hurts more than she thought, Lucy so eager to get back to them, but now things have changed. She was expecting the argument from Laxus, but not the cool anger that would linger for days.

Makarov sighs, hand slipping from her shoulder to her back, giving her a gentle pat. He doesn't say another word on the subject, knowing her well enough not to press. "How is Cobra?" he asks instead, making her frown.

They hadn't had time to discuss him in the last few days, Lucy adjusting and dealing with Laxus. When she gave Makarov the snake venom she hadn't asked what it was for, simply handed it over without a word. "He's been having trouble in the capital," she tells him, sighing slightly. "People have been watching him. He said he was handling it."

Makarov snorts. "He's always said that," he huffs back, shaking his head slowly.

"You don't believe him?" Lucy asks, raising a brow. Makarov doesn't respond. Cobra has never been a liar, but he's a snake. He's always been one to bend the truth if he needs to. Lucy fingers the amulet hanging from her throat, allowing the gem to catch against the moonlight, casting a red glare against her skin and drawing Makarov's attention. "He helped me get it back. The amulet. I don't know what happened to him after." She glances over at him. "Gramps, what if..." she can't finish, trailing off.

He meets her eyes for a brief moment before looking away again. "Cobra is a slippery one, Lucy. Don't worry so much about him. He makes his own choices. And that stone isn't something that should be in Centari hands." She frowns in response, but doesn't question him, knowing he's right.

Slowly, his hand drifts back to her arm, a finger tapping against the top of her left shoulder. "The scars are healing nicely," he muses, sounding more curious than accusing, and Lucy goes still, her gaze snapping to him as he regards the four small, silver scars on her arm.

He's right, they have healed nicely, and not just physically.

She won't ever be able to forget what happened that day, but she's long since forgiven it.

Lucy's hand comes up to cover his, linking their hands and pulling his fingers from her arm. She surprised it took him so long to bring them up, Laxus' accusations from days earlier still fresh in her mind. "It wasn't his fault," she tells Makarov, lowering their clasped hands into her lap. She plays with the stalk of Moonlace in the other, a petal floating down to rest on the bench between them, pale as the full moon.

"And whose fault was it?" he asks, barely a whisper in the room. There's something sharp in his words that makes her wince. She knows Makarov's distrust for the Berserks, forged from loss and grief. They've lost many Faeborne to the fangs of the Northmen: her grandmother, her mother, Laxus' mother, Romeo's father, and so many others, some Lucy's long forgotten. Pergrande's reach extends far, Domus Centari sending his dogs thousands of miles to savage Faeborne, ripping them apart, but not before stealing their magic.

They thought they would be safe so far from Pergrande, but the great empire of the east is not so easily deterred. The Faeborne can run all they want, but eventually they'll be found. Murdered in their beds or left strewn across the ground.

For a moment she pictures her mother, and her throat grows tight as she realizes that's what almost became of her.

 _Whose fault was it?_ Lucy would never blame Natsu, not for her scars and not for the magic that poisoned her blood. He was never in control of himself, a slave to the twisted magic of Fae long since gone. But some Berserks serve the King on their own volition, relishing in the slaughter. Though can't help but wonder if they were meant for that chaos from the beginning or if they simply became what the world wanted them to be: beasts, monsters.

Perhaps they have no one to blame but themselves and the Rings and the Centari line.

She opens her mouth to reply, pausing when she feels a familiar dark pulsing come from near her feet, one Lucy recognizes all too well. For a moment, she frowns, expecting a shock of pain to come from her arm, but it never does. It's with a sharp breath that Lucy looks down at the bag near her feet, remembering what's hidden inside. She drops the flower in her hand, jerking away from Makarov as she grabs at the magicked sack on the floor.

Ripping it open, Lucy buries her hand inside the bag, feeling around and hoping she'll find what she's looking for. She can't believe she forgot about it, but with everything that's happened since coming home it's been the last thing on her mind, Lucy hardly wanting to remember it.

Her fingers come in contact with something cold and heavy, gold burning beneath her touch. It thrums, pulsing with energy, and she nearly pulls her hand back, aware of what it can do. She hasn't touched it since that first day, loath to come in contact with the wicked thing. Bracing herself, Lucy yanks the hunk of metal from her bag, pulling it into the light for the first time in months.

The golden collar she pulled from Natsu's throat glints in the moonlight, the garnet gem in the center flashing. Makarov inhales sharply, reeling back as he recognizes it, his gaze snapping to hers. His lips part, but he can't seem to find his voice, eyes flicking between her face and the magicked collar held loosely in her hand. She doesn't have to ask if he knows what it is. The collars are known throughout the countries, all of Ishgar knowing that Domus Centari collars his dogs.

"I meant to give this to you before," she tells him, carefully holding it out for him to take. He stares, eyes tracing the heavy shape, gaze lingering on the jewel. "Your theory was right. They are being controlled." Makarov hesitates for a moment, feeling the dark energy surrounding the metal just as well as Lucy can, though the magic feels faint almost dormant. Slowly, he takes the collar from her, tracing the bulky shape with a finger.

"It's laced with a compulsion charm, a very powerful one," she explains. "There's a large amount of magic in it. I—" she cuts off, wincing, but forces herself to continue. "When Natsu attacked me I broke it off him. I could feel the energy coming from it, and I just knew. You taught me well, after all." She tries to smile at her grandfather, but it comes out forced, Lucy shifting in her seat. "Natsu said it sends them into a frenzy. Some uncontrollable bloodlust. It isn't like their normal rage."

Makarov doesn't look away from the stone, entranced. "Twisted magic," he mumbles, sighing as he shakes his head. "It controls them completely?" He glances at her and Lucy nods.

"Natsu told me he doesn't remember anything he does while wearing it," she responds.

Wincing, Makarov sends her a grim nod, expression tired as he grasps the collar tightly in his fist. "We'll talk more about this in the morning." Makarov stands slowly, placing a wrinkled hand on her shoulder and squeezing softly.

She watches him stalk towards the door he came through, pausing at the threshold. "Lucy dear," he says suddenly, turning back to look at her, the gold collar clenched tightly in his fist. The red gem flashes in the moonlight, glinting in a way that feels menacing, and she shivers, blaming it on the night's chill. "Don't worry about Laxus," Makarov tells her, voice soft but carrying through the room easily. "Or your Berserk." Her eyes meet his and Makarov smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. "They'll come around."

Instead of speaking, Lucy merely nods, a small smile pulling at her lips. Makarov gives her a final nod before turning towards the doorway, but pauses again, glancing at her over his shoulder. Lucy stares curiously wondering what else there could possibly be for him to say.

"Romeo wanted to know if we should up the guest room for your friend," he tells her, raising a sly brow at the word friend that makes Lucy color in embarrassment, "but I told him not to bother." She frowns for a moment, wondering if it's nothing more than a jab, but it hits her a moment later.

"Gramps!" she sputters, aghast, and he slips out of the room, cackling as he leaves her alone, calling back for her to "get some sleep!" before she hears the door to his workshop creek open and close with a click.

She stays by the window for several more minutes, listening to the faint sounds of Makarov tinkering away in his shop before standing with a sigh and stretching, her spine cracking loudly as she moves. She plucks another Moonlace flower from the vine, cradling it in her hand, her free hand rising to finger the gold chain at her throat.

The gem she stole from the King pulses beneath her touch, swirling with magic. She'll have to ask Makarov about that as well, unsure what it does. It holds some magic, not nearly as strong or dark as that in Natsu's old collar, but powerful in it's own right. Blessed with something, if she had to guess, though she doesn't recognize the raw energy the way she did the compulsion charm lacing the collar. This is softer, gentle and warm.

Vaguely, she wonders if it might be a summons, something locked away inside, but she shoves the thought aside, exhaustion weighing heavy on her.

Lucy walks through the house slowly, familiarizing herself with the hallways and rooms, seeing how much has changed since she's been gone. Everything looks the same, nothing out of place, the shelves dusted and polished until the dark wood shines, Romeo's doing, no doubt. She was gone for over four months, but it's like nothing's changed. Lucy isn't sure how to feel about that.

A floorboard squeals as she trudges up the stairs, Lucy forgetting to avoid the creaky step towards the bottom for the third night in a row. The sound is sharp as it echoes through the room, long and loud and she fears she might have woken someone. Lucy shakes her head. The boys both sleep like the dead, nothing able to wake them, especially not this late into the night.

Her bare feet pad down the hall as she slips into her room, already knowing everything is in place, having observed everything the day before. The door shuts behind her with a soft click, and Lucy takes her time crawling into bed. The Moonlace is placed on her side table, left to wilt in the night, but she doesn't care. Lucy slips beneath the blankets, the wool comforting, smelling like home.

She lies there for some time, drifting through a haze but unable to sleep, her thoughts whirring. Eyes closed, Lucy curls into a ball, burrowing into the blankets tossed over her. Her breathing begins to even, Lucy relaxing. She's home, no longer running through forests or staying in unfamiliar rooms in dangerous towns.

Lucy stirs as she hears a soft sound from outside her window, only a few feet from the bed. She doesn't turn to look over her shoulder, eyes remaining closed even as she hears the window slide open. A cool breeze wafts into the room, a muffled bang reaching her as someone hops onto the floor, padding over to the bed quietly.

She knows who it is without having to look.

Natsu shuffles beside the bed, murmuring something under his breath as he fiddles with something. There's a scrapping sound, and then a thud of metal hitting the floor as he removes his armor, placing it against a wall. His clothing is ruffled, louder than normal in the quiet, but Lucy doesn't stir, used to the sounds of him changing at night. During the darkest hours is the only time she's ever seen him without his armor, the burnished gold protecting him in ways she doesn't understand.

He hovers beside the bed, standing stalk still and casting a shadow over her. Her eyes slip open, gaze on the far wall of the room as she waits for him to settle beside her, Natsu hesitating. She wishes she knew what he was thinking, why he's back now after being gone for days.

The bed dips on one side suddenly, a heavy weight dropping beside her. Lucy keeps herself still, not wanting to startle him, and relaxes as the sheets shift around her, Natsu slipping under the blankets behind her. The familiar presence of him soothes Lucy, the tension in her shoulders from the last few days finally dissipating. Natsu's strong arm loops around her, caging her against him as he tugs her flush against his chest, burying his nose against her hair as his legs tangle with hers easily.

His lips press against her shoulder in a sweet kiss, lingering apologetically, and Lucy's hand finds his in the dark, her fingers slipping between his and holding him tightly, an irrational part of her afraid he might disappear again. Breath ghosting across the scars on her arm, Natsu winds around her, wordlessly saying he won't leave.

"I didn't think you'd come back," she murmurs, voice even but not scathing, Lucy having to fight a quiver on her tongue. The body behind her goes still, Natsu flinching, and she lifts their connected hands until her lips graze his knuckles, needing to be sure it's him but also telling him she isn't mad. Natsu's grip tightens on her in return, arm slipping below her, pillowing Lucy's head.

Natsu presses another kiss to her shoulder as Lucy holds his knuckles to her mouth, letting them rest there as his fingers play with hers.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against her ear, nosing at her skin and tugging her closer. "I just needed time."

She nods in understanding. It was hard for her, coming back, and she knows it must have been worse for him, Natsu in an unfamiliar place and Laxus accusing him of things. It couldn't have been easy, and she doesn't blame him for handling it poorly, even if she wishes he hadn't run from her.

Lucy doesn't answer him for some time, her lip caught between her teeth as she's lulled by the rhythmic movement of his breath against the back of her neck. After a moment, she wiggles from his grasp, keeping his hand locked firmly in hers as she shifts, rising into a sitting position. She needs to see his eyes for the conversation to come, something heavy in the air between them.

Natsu's chest heaves with a sigh, but he rises with her, careful to keep their hands entwined.

Their eyes lock as she looks at him over her shoulder, her mouth going dry as she looks at him, tongue thick and sticky. He looks the same as he did when she last saw him, only more tired, dark circles under his eyes making him look older than he is. She wants to ask him here he went and what this all means, but she can't seem to find the right words. Instead, Lucy clears her throat, wetting her lips as she looks back at him. "How did you know this was my room?"

It comes out teasing, playful, and Natsu relaxes behind her, his shoulders not as rigid, and leans forward until his bare chest brushes against her back, warming her through her thin top.

"The window was unlocked," he whispers back to her, shrugging as if it's obvious. Lucy snorts, barely able to smother her laughter, and Natsu's eyes flicker with amusement when she grins. His fingers tug at hers, coaxing a smile from her.

She leans back against his chest. "And if it was Laxus in here?" she asks him, amusement creeping into her tone as she stares up at him, Natsu watching her with fond eyes. None of their windows are kept locked, given the enchantments places around the house. And the inhabitants of Magnolia know better than to break into the homes of Faeborne.

"I suppose I'd be in trouble," he tells her, laughing lightly. He squeezes her hand, playing with her fingers as he glances at the open window, a breeze sweeping through the room and making her shiver, the autumn air cold this late at night. Noticing her sudden chill, Natsu guides her to rest against him, shifting so that his legs are on either side of her as his arm loops around her waist. "How'd you know it was me?" he breathes against her ear.

Lucy sighs, curling into him. Berserks are more physical them most, she's noticed after her time spent with Natsu. Contact seems to be convey more than his words at times, and she isn't entirely sure what to make of that. Lucy will have to ask him about it sometime, because she wants to understand.

"You seem to have a habit of climbing in through windows," she jokes, glancing up at his with a grin. He narrows his eyes at her, but can't hide the quirk of his lips.

"Once" he argues, nose wrinkling. Natsu's expression sobers suddenly. "I didn't think they'd let me in," he mumbles, the words almost lost to her.

Lucy can't help but wonder if he means Peg, the innkeeper in Jorah, or her family, but she doesn't have the heart to ask, unsure if she'd like the answer.

They sit there for a long moment, Lucy cradled to his chest and Natsu wound around her tight with no intentions of letting go. Eventually, Lucy sighs, a question on the tip of her tongue as she gently removes his arms from her waist. Natsu goes still behind her, tensing, but she doesn't go far, leaving him just enough to turn around, facing him directly. Slowly, she reaches out for him, fingertips brushing against his cheek before he takes her hand in his. "Where did you go?" she asks him, barely a whisper.

Natsu hears her, eyes squeezing shut as he sighs. "I had to think." His throat bobs with a harsh swallow, Natsu looking away from her. His green eyes flash catlike in the dark as they meet hers again. Lucy doesn't breath a word, waiting for him to continue on his own. "About this." He glances around the room, jaw clenching tight and Lucy understands. It's all too much sometimes. "You" he continues, fingers squeezing around hers. "Pergrande." He spits the name, sneering, and the hand not laced with hers so tightly his knuckles turn white from the pressure. "I won't be used like that again." Natsu's voice is firm as he says it, gaze sharp, and in the darkness he suddenly looks dangerous, ruthless.

Her stomach twists at the implication, Lucy only knowing bits and pieces of what he went through. It could be far worse than she ever imagined. "Natsu…" she murmurs, trailing off when she can't find the right words.

She would never do that to him.

Natsu sends her a soft look that tells her it's okay, that he knows.

"You wouldn't have to," he tells her suddenly, expression serious as he tugs her forward, beckoning her closer. Lucy comes willingly, confusion sweeping through her as she's brought close to his chest, kneeling between his splayed legs. There breathes mingle, Natsu's hand coming up to rest on her hip. "Before," he continues, noting her bewilderment, "you said you wouldn't ask me to fight," Natsu reminds her. Lucy nods in response, recalling what she said in the forest. "You wouldn't have to." He wets his lips, brushing the hair from her eyes with a gentle hand. "If it meant keeping you safe, I'd…"

Natsu doesn't finish, but, she understands. "I know," Lucy whispers, catching his hand and keeping it pressed to her cheek. "You've told me." She coaxes a smile from him, the hardness leaving his features as he looks at her. "And you know I would do the same for you."

His gaze drifts down to her arm, and his fingers slip down to the faded rune painted on her sin, the mark nearly gone, only a thin skeleton of blue remaining. "Only the Berserks wear these marks, Lucy," he tells her, swallowing, something fierce in his gaze. And Lucy understands this time, to bear the mark— _his mark_ —is something special, something that makes a warmth flood through her.

"I know," she breathes back to him.

* * *

 **AN:** **Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.**


	40. Arc Two: Chapter 4

**AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure to leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter Four**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

Lucy's hair turns to gold in the morning light, soft and entrancing, and he finds himself winding his fingers through the tangled strands. She sighs in her sleep, pressing into his touch, and he smiles for a moment before his expression hardens. Now, as she sleeps, Natsu can see the dark circles under her eyes, the faintest hint of tension in the crease of her brow, small signs of her exhaustion. She fell asleep almost immediately last night, curling into his side and winding herself around him tight, afraid he's disappear again.

Wincing, Natsu brushes her hair away from her face, letting his knuckles linger on her cheek. She shifts, murmuring something as she stirs, and Natsu pulls his hand back, not wanting to wake her. She settles after a moment, body heaving with a sigh as she tucks her face against her pillow.

He watches her for a moment longer, drinking in the sight of her with greedy eyes before finally tearing himself away. Natsu shakes his head, his lips twisting into a grin when her fingers twitch, hand searching for him on the mattress, but unable to find the source of heat radiating from beside her. Eventually, she stops searching, hand going limp against the bed, her body rising with her deep breathes.

The mark on her arm is nearly worn away, a skeleton of what it was after going days without being redrawn. Lucy could have done it on her own, the paint left in her bag, but his heart swells at the idea of her waiting for him to come back, wanting him to paint it on her himself. Or perhaps she was simply waiting for it to fade, not wanting the reminder of him on her skin.

Running off was rash of him, especially after what she said, but he could barely breathe, standing there with her staring at him, his mind clouded with too many thoughts something inside him just waiting to snap. His burst of rage earlier hadn't quelled the monster inside him, still clawing to get out. Natsu was terrified he might hurt her if he stayed there, say something he didn't mean or have his fury rise to an uncontrollable level.

There's a point they can't come back from, the Berserks, a point where the bloodlust and anger takes over everything, their urge to protect outweighed by an intense need to destroy. That's what the collars bring out in them, their minds going blank as they fly into a frenzy. They can't feel anything then, not broken bones, not weariness, only rage. The collars enhanced that state in them, dragging it to the surface and making them the bloodthirsty monsters the world wanted them to be.

He didn't know what to do in that moment but run, needing to get away from her before he did something awful. Lucy always had a way of calming his nerves, suppressing the beast, but in that moment she was one of the things making him lose his mind, Natsu still confused with everything that happened in such a short time. He would rather be dead than hurt her again, and all he could think to do was run and not look back, knowing if he saw those honey eyes he wouldn't be able to look away, pinned under her gaze.

He doesn't regret running, only hurting her in the process.

Gently, he uncurls himself from where he rests beside her, fingers itching to reach for her one more, but he stops himself before he can fall back into place next to her. He wonders if it's answer enough for her, if she knows what that symbol on her arm, worn as it is, means to him—if she knows what _she_ means to him. He doesn't know how to put that into words, how much she matters. He never expected to care this much, he was simply repaying the debt he owed, blood for blood, but that changed before he could realize something was shifting.

He thinks it was back in Jorah, when she waited for him— _cried_ for him. She called him a friend, and that meant more to him than anything. Somehow she found her way into his veins, curling through every part of him. The violence he's faced, being forced into a cage for the better part of his life, it hasn't made him forget how to care, how to love. Igneel taught him to hold onto that, to never lose that part of himself.

And he doesn't intend to. He won't let the world make a monster of him.

Natsu sends her one last lingering look before slipping from the bed, carful not to disturb her as the mattress shifts beneath his weight. Lucy stirs slightly, but doesn't wake, and he smiles down at her, letting his fingers brush against hers before turning away, bare feet padding across the floor as he heads for the door. It creaks as he pushes it open, though not nearly loud enough to wake Lucy. She isn't nearly as light a sleeper as him, rising with the moon and stars but never the sun.

He's heard stories of the Fae dancing in the moonlight, their magic enhanced their spirits high. Igneel used to tell him they were creatures of the night where Berserks basked in the sunlight. And Magi said something similar once, after telling him about her husband, sharing old Fae stories with him as well as those of Berserks. She told him how different they were, Faeborne and Berserks, but how they always seemed to find each other.

One of the stairs groans beneath his weight, and Natsu hesitates before taking the final steps, wary of waking anyone else. Nothing in the house stirs, everyone either still asleep or going about their business as usual. They seem like a busy family, if Lucy is anything to go by. From what he saw of her family they seemed like early risers. Her cousin, Laxus, looked like he's spent time in forges, and Igneel once told him the best time for metalwork is in the mornings, before the heat sets in.

Natsu wanders through the unfamiliar rooms in the lower floor, gathering that the bedrooms are all higher up. He'll have to ask Lucy about them later, but for now he's content to walk through the stone building on his own, taking in everything with slow curiosity, drinking in the makings of a home he hasn't been in for years.

It's a bit like Magi's home back in Narja, though a bit larger and cluttered, though impeccably clean. Natsu passes a row of glass bottles lining a shelf, all made from clear glass but the shapes or varying sizes and shapes. A multitude of colorful liquids sloshing inside as he traces a careful fingertip down the side of one. He frowns, head cocking to the side, and wonders if Lucy's grandfather made them.

Lucy mentioned him being a spellweaver once or twice, casually mentioning the potions and tonics he makes, selling them in town. Natsu wonders how well they work and what they might do, how different it is from Lucy's magic. There's something alive about the way her magic rolls from her, twisting and curling and reacting to her mood, lucid. Weaving spells seem strange in comparison, more practiced but less passionate.

He hadn't thought to ask Magi about her magic, too concerned for Lucy to bother with Fae magic, not when it caused them both so much pain. That dark magic wove itself through his mind so tightly he can't be sure it will ever truly be gone, and it nearly killed Lucy. He should have asked more about her magic, figuring her a Spellweaver herself. He recalls the jars in her workshop, pastes and tonics and other things he didn't recognize.

Natsu's hand curls around a jar filled with a pale blue liquid, and where he touches the glass the bottle begins to warm, the contents becoming darker suddenly. He watches, fascinated, as it changes to a deep violet in color, the liquid warping near his fingertips in odd flourishes, like flowers blooming beneath his touch.

There's a soft tap of feet moving across the floor, so quiet Natsu nearly misses it, if not for the irregular click of a cane striking the ground with each step. It's a sound he's come to know well. Back when he was young, stuck in the cages in Crocus, there was a night guard with a cane, older and kinder than the rest, but no less of a coward than any other guard. He would hobble from one end of the ring to the other, making a large sweep as he circled the cages.

Natsu used to fall asleep to that tapping, flinching every time it came closer.

He doesn't react as Makarov comes up behind him, pretending to keep his attention on the bottles as the old man pauses in the threshold of the room, watching as Natsu continues to fiddle with the delicate bottle, cradling it in his palm.

"I'd be careful with that if I were you," Makarov warns him suddenly, something mischievous in his tone that eases the tension in Natsu's shoulders. He glances back at the man, seeing Makarov's eyes sparkle with humor as he quirks a brow. Natsu rolls the bottle in his fingers, watching the violet blooms chase his touch.

Eventually he turns back to Makarov, curious. "What does it do?" he questions, watching the magic within swirl, violet changing to a deep red the longer he holds it. His frown deepens as the colors continue to flicker, the liquid no longer resembling the shade it was when he picked it up. The glass grows hot to the touch, searing his skin, and Natsu nearly drops it.

He's never been burned before; the Berserks rarely feel heat.

"Love potion," Makarov tells him, hobbling further into the room. "Very nasty when handled poorly." His look is pointed as he stares at the bottle and then Natsu, almost chastising, and Natsu can't help the wolfish grin that spreads across his face. There's something friendly about the older man, something kind, and Natsu dully notes that it's the same thing he felt around Lucy and Magi, their magic warm and inviting.

"Do I want to ask?" Natsu jokes, placing the bottle back where he found it, noting the color turning dark, near black. As soon as he releases it, the red begins to fade, shades of purple disappearing entirely until it returns to a pale blue.

The twinkle in Makarov's eyes dares Natsu to ask what the potion could do, but Natsu knows better than to play with chance like this, knowing how dangerous magic can be when laced with ill intent.

His fingers come up to trace the scar on his neck, absentminded as he traces the pale, raised skin. Makarov follows the motion with his eyes, expression growing tight, though Natsu doesn't notice, lost in his thoughts.

"I told her you'd be back," Makarov says instead, crossing the room until he's a step behind Natsu, surveying the assortment of bottles lining the shelves. Natsu stiffens at his words, hand falling back to his side and clenching into a tight fist. Makarov either doesn't notice or simply doesn't care, not reacting as he continues to talk. "She didn't believe me, was afraid you'd disappear for good. But I know best!" He grins up at Natsu, giving a sly wink.

Natsu rips his gaze away from Makarov, recalling Lucy's words from the night before. It hurts, her lack of faith in him coming back to her, but he can't blame her for that. He promised he'd stay with her and only days later he ran off on her. He could hear the desperation in her voice when she called out to him as he walked away, his name broken on her lips. "I wouldn't blame her for thinking that. I shouldn't have ran," he says, more to himself than Makarov.

He wishes there was a better option, but he wasn't willing to risk hurting her.

"Maybe," Makarov muses, foot tapping rhythmically. "But you did," he reminds Natsu, staring up at him with a serious expression. His golden eyes reveal nothing as they lock with Natsu's, and he can't help but fidget under his scrutiny, Natsu feeling small under the weight of his gaze. "And now here you are," he finishes simply, shrugging, no scathing edge to his words like Natsu would expect.

"I didn't mean to upset her," he promises, releasing a heavy breath.

Makarov's tapping misses a beat. "No one ever does," he murmurs back, expression growing tired as his eyes flit between the bottles, observing the multitude of colors. "Don't make a habit of it," he warns Natsu, eyes crackling with something dangerous as they find Natsu's.

Natsu opens his mouth to respond, to promise that he won't, but the words won't come out, Natsu not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he merely nods, hoping Makarov can see the resolution in his gaze. He won't disappear on her like that again, not so long as he can help it. Hurting her is the last thing he wants to do.

"It's a lot to take in isn't it?" Makarov asks him, cane clacking against the ground as he walks away from Natsu, heading towards an open window in the front of the house, a breeze floating through. He reaches outside, plucking a pale, near silver flower from a vine and twisting it between his fingers. "It must be very different from what you're used to."

Though the words aren't cruel, Natsu's lip curls back over his teeth, his body going tense.

"Yeah," he replies simply, eyes on Makarov's back. "I wasn't expecting all of this." A war, so many people watching him like he's a monster, like he'll snap. He doesn't like it. Even after over a decade nothing in Fiore has changed, they're still afraid of the Berserks, with their fangs and brutal fists. He'd forgotten with Lucy. She accepted him easily, albeit warily at first. "I haven't been back to Fiore in years," Natsu tells Makarov, a bitter smile pulling at his lips, expression cold. "Though I can't say a lot has changed."

It comes out more bitter than he means it to, but Natsu finds he doesn't care. If they want to judge him for existing, that's their choice.

Makarov doesn't seem to mind his sharp tone, sending him an apologetic smile that makes Natsu pause. "You'll have to forgive Laxus," Makarov tells him, sighing softly. "He's brash and protective, but he means well." Makarov sighs, gaze shifting to the left. The dull clang of metal on metal tells Natsu someone's working in the forge outside, the ring of metal rhythmic and practiced, soothing in some way.

Igneel worked in a forge, long before he was taken by the Fiore rings. He wore the burns with honor, showing them to Natsu when he was upset, still a child in the rings and terrified. Each mark had a story, and Igneel could remember them all. The first burn scar Igneel ever showed him was a small, discolored patch on the side of his hand, his first burn, caused by unpracticed and too eager hands.

"I don't blame him," Natsu assures. For all of Laxus' hatred, he has reason to be afraid. They all do. The Berserks are used for slaughter, the King sending them out to enforce his rules. "You've lost many to the Berserks, haven't you?" Lucy never told him, but he could see the ghosts in their eyes when they looked at him. And Laxus' list..

Disgust floods through him, and Natsu shakes his head, feeling sick as he thinks about the Faeborne being slaughtered and stripped of their magic.

Makarov is quiet for some time, so long that Natsu begins to think he won't respond, lost in bad memories. "We've lost many to Pergrande," he says finally.

To Pergrande, not the Berserks. Natsu stares at his back, wondering if Makarov means it or if he's simply trying to placate him. He doesn't ask, unsure if he'd like the answer.

Silence surrounds them, the dull sounds of the forge slipping into nothing as they stand in they stand in the room. Natsu's gaze slips around the room, noting the shelf full of books lining one of the walls, the wood overflowing with old tomes and spellbooks. They're carefully kept, clean and stacked nicely, more ordered than the rest of the room.

"She said you attacked her," Makarov says suddenly. There's no accusation in his eyes or in his words, it's merely a fact, but Natsu flinches regardless, his throats growing tight as a phantom hand curls around him. Makarov stares, watching the shift in Natsu's emotions, his expression growing stony. He takes another step forward, cane clicking across the floor.

Natsu swallows, gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before snapping back up to lock with Makarov's. "I… yeah, I did," he admits, turning around. He won't make excuses for what happened. Not now. He hurt Lucy, regardless of the magic thrumming through him, it was still his hands and his mouth that did that to her.

Makarov nods, accepting his answer easily. "Be honest with me," he murmurs, heaving a sigh. "How bad was it?" Natsu frowns, confused, and Makarov gives a bitter smile. "She doesn't like to make us worry, but there was something in her eyes…" he trails off softly.

Bile rises in Natsu's throat, Natsu knowing that look in her eyes. It was there every time she told him she was okay, every time she lied and pretended nothing was wrong, shoving off the hurt because she wasn't able to tell him what happened. Magic turned to venom in her blood, twisting her mind and draining the life from her. And somehow she just kept smiling.

"Bad," Natsu says simply, heart squeezing as he says it, voice thick with emotion. He swallows it back. Makarov deserves to know what could have happened to her, even if Natsu is loath to tell him. "It almost killed her." Makarov flinches, but Natsu doesn't stop. His stomach twists sickly, and he takes a deep breath. At his sides, his fingers tremble, and Natsu clenches them into tight fists. "I didn't think she'd wake up for a while…" he words drift into nothing, Natsu lost in thought for a moment. "She collapsed once, in Narja," he continues, wetting his lips. "I didn't know what was wrong but… her veins were black. The magic was poisoning her slowly and I hadn't even noticed."

A low growl tears from his throat, Natsu's anger spilling through the cracks in his resolve to stay calm. Blood prickles at his skin as his nails dig into his palms, but Natsu doesn't feel it, lost to his anger. It's the smell that snaps him out of it: bitter and metallic and it reminds him of the phantom taste of Lucy's blood in his mouth.

"She doesn't blame you," Makarov tells him simply, and Natsu sneers. He knows that well enough. Lucy's told him so, Magi as well. But words don't stop the rage boiling in his gut or remove the bitter taste in his mouth every time he sees the small scars on her arm. They're soft beneath his lips, but no matter how pretty they look against her skin, small and silver like stars, Natsu won't ever forget the way her arm looked with the black fae magic coursing through her, killing her.

A grinding sound fills the room, Natsu gritting his teeth and trying not to snarl. Makarov turns around, staring at him, and Natsu forces himself to respond through a clenched jaw. "I know." Guilt eats away at his insides despite the reassurance in Makarov's gaze. Lucy hasn't blamed him once for what he did, constantly reminding him that it was the collar. The magic. But it was him. No matter what anyone says, it was still him.

Understanding crosses Makarov's face, eyes pensive and his mouth twisting into a frown. "But you blame yourself." A fact, not a question. There's no denying the culpability that plagues him.

Natsu barks out a bitter laugh. "Wouldn't you?" he spits, snarling at Makarov as heat spikes in his blood. "I nearly killed her," he reminds the other man, " _twice_." They keep telling him not to blame himself, but he can't do that. He won't. Passing the blame to someone or something else doesn't excuse his hands around her throat. Collar or not, Natsu has killed people before.

"But you didn't," he reasons, taking a step forward. The wooden cane clicks across the floor, echoing through his bones. Natsu flinches with each clack, catching his lip between his teeth. "And that's more than some can say." Makarov's smile is gentle, comforting, and Natsu's reply turns to ash in his mouth, his throat closing.

When Natsu doesn't reply, Makarov sighs, turning away and heading back out of the room. Natsu doesn't watch, eyes drifting back to the love potion on the shelf, a cold blue staring back at him. A throat clears from his right, and Natsu glances up to see Makarov watching him, his brow raised impatiently and his foot tapping against the floor. He jerks his chin, beckoning Natsu to follow, and with a frown he does, hardly making a sound as he trails after behind the man.

Makarov leads him to the back of the house and a small door decorated with a chain or iron pieces, all tied together on a cord. They jingle as Makarov unlocks the door, clanking together roughly, and something about them sends a chill along Natsu's spine. They're enchanted. Possibly dangerously so, and Natsu is careful not to touch them as Makarov leads him into a dark room, Natsu stooping to avoid the low doorway, the height better fit for a child than a grown man.

Looking at Makarov, he can see why.

They step in to what must be Makarov's workshop, a large desk situated in the center of the room and a chaotic assortment of books and sheets of parchment scattered around the room, some covered in sketches, others scribbled writing that Natsu can't make out. More bottles lay haphazardly throughout the room, on floors and the desk and spilling from shelves, some full but most empty.

A flash of gold catches his attention, and Natsu's eyes snap up to lock on a familiar metal collar on the center of the desk. He stiffens when he sees it, a low sound ripping from his throat as his gaze slides to Makarov: a warning. The other man simply waves him off, gesturing for him to come closer as he settles onto a stool beside the desk.

Natsu follows cautiously, unsure what to make of the situation. He doesn't know Makarov besides what Lucy has told him, and that doesn't mean he trusts the man entirely. Lucy would never intentionally put him in harms way, but that doesn't mean her grandfather wouldn't.

"Fae magic is a very powerful thing," Makarov tells him as Natsu stands across from him, not taking the offered stool sitting off to one side. Gold eyes lock with his and Natsu softens slightly, noting not for the first time that the color holds some power over him, one that Natsu doesn't understand.

Natsu snorts, lip curling slightly. "So I've been told," he replies dryly, gaining a look from Makarov in return, a cross between amusement and annoyance.

The man continues as if he hadn't spoken, ignoring Natsu's blatant jab. "It can be twisted and used to do terrible things," Makarov tells him, expression sobering as he sighs. "As I'm sure you know," he mumbles, tacking it on at the end. Natsu winces, absentmindedly rubbing at his throat as he stares down at the collar sitting innocently on the desk, looking almost delicate among the clutter on Makarov's desk.

It looks deceiving sitting there, non-threatening, though Natsu knows better what it can really do. How much it can hurt.

Tongue thick in his mouth, Natsu swallows, ignoring the dryness of his mouth and throat. "How is it corrupted?" he asks suddenly, lips pressing into a thin line when he glances at Makarov. Some strange part of him needs to know how it works. He's never cared about the magic before. Knowing it hurt was enough, but he's grown curious since meeting Lucy.

Makarov sighs, as if he was expecting the question, but doesn't quite know how to answer. Natsu doesn't blame him for that. Magic has never made much sense to him. "It's hard to tell," Makarov tells him after a moment, reaching out to prod the collar with a curious finger. "Some say when a Faeborne's blood is spilled it turns their magic sour," he mumbles. "Others say the Centari line keeps a Fae in their court," Makarov's expression curls into something dark, murderous, "twisting the blessings placed on objects and turning them to curses."

Briefly, he wonders if the Fae have their own word for blood traitors.

"And what do you believe?" Natsu asks instead, not wanting to press the issue. The idea alone rocks Natsu to his core. The very idea that one Faeborne may be participating in the slaughter of their kin makes Natsu sick. He'll never understand how someone could live with themselves after such atrocities.

Makarov drags a finger across the ruby embedded in the collar, tapping it experimentally. "I believe in the blade of Mamora," he tells Natsu simply. His eyes snap up, a brow raised curiously. "Do you know of it?" Makarov asks, the slightest hint of an accusation in his words. Natsu isn't sure if he means in passing or something else, but decides he'd rather not know.

He wets his lips, holding Makarov's stern gaze with his own cold expression. "Lucy mentioned it once," he replies, fingers drumming against his thigh. "She said it drains the magic of Fae at the cost of their life." Natsu spit the words like they're poison on his tongue, not liking the way they taste, like sour grapes.

"That is the gist, yes," Makarov says, groping for a quill and inkwell. His gaze jumps from Natsu to the collar laying between them, lips pursed, and he begins to scribble something unreadable.

Natsu watches him work in silence, but something nags at him about Makarov's response. "But there's something else?" he whispers, drawing the man's attention. His eyes crinkle at the edges, but this time no amusement flickers across his face, only something grim. He doesn't speak, but his expression is answer enough. "Tell me," Natsu demands gently, leaning forward, hands splayed on the desk.

Makarov blinks at him slowly. "I believe the blade was made by the Berserks, a tribute to one of the Old Gods." Natsu nods, understanding. A blade of ice and diamond would make a fine gift for a God. "Though it was then cursed by a Fae to taint the magic that it steals, twisting it into something vile." He shakes his head, rubbing at his temple. "There are likely more objects like this as well."

That catches his attention. Natsu's head snaps up in Makarov's direction, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Lucy's necklace?" he asks, wary of the answer. He knows the gem around her throat holds some magic, but not how much. She's had the thing around her neck for days now, and though it doesn't feel malicious like the collars did, Natsu wouldn't dare bet on it.

Makarov glances at him. "No, no. That does something else entirely." He shakes his head, shrugging slightly as he stares down at the collar on the table, fingers hovering over it so not to touch the smooth metal. "The knowledge has been lost to us through time, but it is not something dangerous. He glances up. "To her or to you."

Natsu nods in understanding, the movement jerky as he swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth.

Before he can respond there's a knock at the door behind him, the wood groaning as it's forced open, hinges squealing. Heavy footsteps pound against the floor, someone swearing under their breath. "Hey, Gramps," a familiar voice begins, Natsu stiffening when he realizes who it is, head snapping around, "I was wondering—"

Laxus cuts off suddenly when he sees Natsu, jaw clenching so tightly Natsu can hear his teeth grind together. His fingers curl into tight fists, hands trembling as his eyes narrow dangerously, and Laxus sneers at him, electricity flickering along his skin immediately, a threat. A growl bubbles in Natsu's throat, but he chokes it back, instead showing his teeth, sharp canines flashing in warning.

An unnatural rage ignites his bones as he stares at the other man, Natsu's blood roaring in his ears, his body aching for a fight. Every fight he's had recently has been cut off too quickly, it hasn't been enough. The bloodlust is itching at his skin, begging to be let out.

Makarov sighs, so low Natsu almost doesn't hear him. "Laxus, how are you this morning?" There's something strained in his tone, but the words are foggy, dulled by the pounding of his heart. Natsu doesn't peel his eyes away from Laxus, his vision beginning to blur at the edges, everything growing dark.

"What is he doing here?" Laxus snarls, gold eyes sparking with lightning. Electricity jolts from his fingers as he glares at Natsu. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Their voices grow distant. Natsu is dimly aware of Makarov telling Laxus to calm down, not to pick a fight. Something moves behind Natsu, but he doesn't notice, gaze locked on Laxus, sizing him up. He isn't as strong as a Berserk, and he doesn't seem as fast as Lucy. It would be an easy fight. Easy.

"I want to know why the fuck you think you can just come back here." Laxus takes a step towards him, voice rising, though the words are lost to Natsu, a red haze clouding his vision. Laxus sneers something foul, a word Natsu has heard more than a dozen times in his life. It makes his skin crawl and he doesn't think.

Natsu lunges.

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 **AN:** **Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.**


	41. Arc Two: Chapter 5

**AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure to leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter Five**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

A crashing sound rips Lucy away from her conversation with Romeo, her younger brother cutting off mid-sentence, half-smile still quirked on his lips, his eyes bleary and barely awake. Her head snaps around, her own eyes narrowing, bewildered, sleep still pulling at her mind. She'd only woken some minutes earlier, alone but still warm, a comfortable heat still lingering in the air. Romeo was stumbling out of his room as she was leaving hers, and they found themselves in the kitchen easily enough.

She hadn't thought much about where Natsu went, assuming he merely needed time to himself. Lucy wouldn't blame him if he did. The house was curiously quiet when she awoke, no sound coming from Laxus' room and the living space empty, Makarov still tinkering away in his shop.

For a moment she was back in her old routine: Romeo crawling out of bed late into the morning, all smiles and clumsy feet as he stumbled into the world; Laxus out in the forge, the dull sound of a hammer echoing faintly through the walls; Makarov singing in his workshop, glass bottles clinking together as he mixed his spells; she and Romeo making breakfast together, laughing and joking. They would poke fun at Laxus as he came inside, covered in sweat and static, the scar across his eye crinkling as he smirked at them, and eventually Makarov would come inside, new spots staining his shirt, the smell of magic clinging to him.

For a moment she simply forgot, her thoughts hazy in the early morning. There was no echo of metal on metal from outside, and Makarov wasn't singing. It hit her a moment too late, why it was so quiet, where everyone was. Her fingers froze around the egg in her hand, grin still pulling at her lips, her spine going stiff.

A second banging sound follows the first, a muffled yell coming from Makarov's workshop. Romeo fumbles with the pan he's holding, grip slackening as his eyes widen, startled by the scream. The pan slips from his fingers, clanging loudly against the floor. The egg in Lucy's hand follows soon after, her feet already moving as she races towards Makarov's workshop.

Another slam.

"Lucy!" Romeo calls after her, a concerned note to his voice, but she ignores it, hearing his footsteps trailing hers, only a half-step behind as he hurries after her. She already knows what's happening before she comes close to the other room, the sounds of splintering glass and muffled shouts reaching her ears from halfway across the house.

Practically racing towards Makarov's workshop, Lucy's bare feet slip against the wood floors, the floor becoming sticky as she nears the shop, liquid seeping from beneath the thick, wooden door, a sickly smell tickling at her senses. A potion vile must have fallen close to the door, likely harmless, but she still flinches as it licks at her skin, Lucy unsure what Makarov has been making in the months she's been away. He's keeps the most dangerous locked away in his shop, though she's never been sure where.

Lucy feels Romeo's hand on her arm, trying to jerk her away from the door as something inside the other room shatters, a muffled shout making her skin prickle nervously. She shakes him off, gritting her teeth as she shoves, knocking the door inwards without a second thought. It slams against the wall, a row of potion bottles rattling with the force, and Romeo swears behind her as Laxus is suddenly thrown against the wall beside them, crumpling to the ground.

The breath is ripped from her lungs when she sees him, head snapping around to follow his form as he barely avoids ramming into her. Blood drips from his mouth, a split on his lip and a nasty bruise forming along his jaw, angry red bordering on purple. He's still standing though, rattled, but not beaten.

Lightning flickers at his fingertips, an electric smell filling the air, static crawling through the room. The tips of her hair begin to rise, reacting to Laxus' magic, and Lucy can feel her own surging to the surface, adding chaos to the situation. She shoves it back, ignoring the crackling sound in her ears as she glances wildly around the room, searching for Natsu and Makarov.

She catches sight of Natsu's wild gaze a moment later, the feral look in his eyes making her chest go cold. He looks unfamiliar to her in that moment, lips curled back, teeth displayed threateningly towards her cousin. His knuckles are pale, fists clenched so tight his skin is strained, threatening to tear in two. Natsu's entire body trembles, a low, horrible sound ripping from deep in his chest.

For a moment she thinks he's about to lunge for Laxus, her cousin shaking himself off and forcing himself back to his feet. Again, electricity arcs from his hands, bolts of lighting extending around him in a type of shield. A burning smell curls through the air, smoke rising from Laxus' shoulders.

Romeo's hand curls around her, his fingers tugging insistently at hers as he shoves himself into the room beside her, caught between her and the door and having to peer over her head to see what's happened. "Lucy?" he snaps, nudging her roughly. "Lucy, what do we do?"

"I don't know," she sputters out, shaking her head. A part of her wants to get between them, end the fight before it can truly begin. So far not much has happened that she can see. A single hit, as far as she can tell. "I don't know," she repeats, glancing between them. Laxus will have a bruise, but neither of them are hurt badly.

She wants to keep it that way.

If Laxus uses his magic, she knows the fighting won't stop until one of them is half-dead. Lucy doesn't know what started the fight, but she has her guesses. Laxus has always had a smart mouth, biting and vicious, knowing just what to say to make people snap. He's always itched for fights, so much like the Berserks in that regard.

Her gaze snaps back to Natsu, seeing the pure rage in his expression, his eyes clouded with a bloodlust she hasn't seen for weeks, not since they first met. It makes her blood run cold and her heart stutters in her chest, her palms trembling slightly. This time, she doesn't dare get between them like she did with Jellal. If she did, she thinks he might tear her apart to get to Laxus. There's none of the protective instinct in his eyes that she's grown used to seeing, only a boiling rage, and she knows he's snapped.

"Natsu," she calls hesitantly, raising her arms placatingly and taking a step forward. He doesn't seem to hear her as she takes another step, Romeo slipping around her, heading towards Laxus. Her cousin's gaze snaps to her for only a moment, recognizing what she's doing, and his magic flares once again, electricity crackling through the room and making her hair stand on end. Natsu snarls at him. "Natsu, calm down."

He doesn't respond to her voice, and Lucy winces, unsure how to get through to him. This isn't like the other fights they've been in. There are too many people in the room, Romeo behind her and Makarov hidden somewhere in the chaotic space. She didn't see him when she first came in and prays to the Old Gods that he isn't hurt, but Lucy knows that despite his age, Makarov can handle nearly anything. His magic is something to marvel at.

Laxus finally shoves himself to his feet, rocking on the balls of his feet as lightning flashes through the room, blinding Lucy and Romeo. Her magic reacts without her meaning to, a gust of wind ripping through the room, nearly knocking her off her feet with the force of it. Bottles topple from shelves, glass splintering and liquids seeping onto the floor, bright colors mixing into something dark.

Confusion nips at her briefly. She was never that powerful before, and neither was Laxus all those months ago. Before, he could barely create a spark, a shock, and all she could do was ruffle hair and rustle papers. Though, she always did know what Laxus was capable of: a phantom pain arcs along her side, lightning flashing dangerously lose, blood on her hands, Laxus crying, mumbled words she could barely make out.

She shoves the memory back as far as she can, unable to breathe as it consumes her for a moment.

Suddenly, Natsu lunges for Laxus, teeth bared. Laxus throws up his arm, inky tattoos snaking along his wrist and forearm, a protective symbol of Frey, the Fae Goddess of strength. Romeo shouts something but the words are lost to her, drowned out by the roaring in her ears. She can't move, can barely breathe, can only watch as Natsu goes for the throat.

A vial is shattered between them, a waft of dark smoke filling the air. A putrid smell follows, something rotten. Lucy lurches back, stumbling into Romeo, and her brother coils an arm around her defensively, wary of the smoke. Laxus has a similar reaction to them, tripping backwards as the smoke surrounds him, coughing as he stumbles back against the wall. A row of jars on a shelf above him wobbles, but they don't fall.

Natsu's reaction is near violent as he throws himself backwards, yelping and shaking himself. The smoke merely follows him, seeming to stick to his skin despite his thrashing. He blinks rapidly, eyes glossy but clearer than when she walked in. Natsu's eyes meet hers through the haze and widen, his body going slack as he seems to realize what he did.

His expression turns apologetic, but Lucy turns away when Romeo begins coughing, the smoke drifting closer to them, spreading through the room at an alarming rate. Her eyes burn in response, and she chokes when she takes a breath.

A hiss sounds from behind her, low and irritated, and Lucy turns in time to see a flash of gray tail as Happy slips out the crack in the open door. The cat doesn't stay, doesn't look back, and Lucy doesn't blame him.

"Lucy!" someone snaps, voice loud over the sound of couching. Her head snaps up, eyes locking with a familiar set across the room. "Get the smoke out!" Through the haze she barely recognizes Makarov, his hand waving in front of his face to force the smoke away. His eyes water as he squints at her, expression frantic.

She doesn't move at first, too stunned by what's happened to properly move, but Makarov snaps at her a second time, demanding in tone, something she rarely hears from him. Lucy jolts out of her thoughts when Romeo tugs at her hand, barely managing her name between coughs, and she calls on her magic immediately.

It flares around them, the wind picking up. It gets in her mouth and in her eyes, but Lucy doesn't need to see to know what she'd doing. Makarov's workshop is as familiar to her as her own hands, organized chaos or not.

She forces her magic to surround the smoke, coiling it into a dark, squirming mass, almost alive as it thrashes against her hold. Her magic rushes through her veins, moving beneath her skin, and she shivers as a cold, phantom sensation runs along her spine. Quickly, she shoves the smoke back, forcing it towards the back door and the crack in the window, a hand sized hole from where Romeo once slipped on a spilled potion.

The smoke darkens to near black as it's compressed, the wind rushing around her, her ears ringing in response. The window rattles as some of the smoke slips through the crack, and the glass breaks further, splintering down the middle before shattering entirely, shards forced out with the smoke as Lucy concentrates her magic.

The smoke lingers for only a moment before dispersing, ripped away with the wind.

The room is silent for a long moment, broken only by the sound of coughing and greedy gasps of air. Laxus stands on shaky legs, glancing between her and Natsu, expression souring by the minute. Natsu stares back at Laxus for a moment too long, bristling slightly before glancing at her, seeming to calm himself. Lucy doubts another fight would happen so soon, but she can never be sure. Between the two men, Lucy thinks the shop might become something of a Wyrdfire, fast and deadly, no way to stop the forest from burning to the ground.

Lucy wheezes as the smoke clears from the room and shoves back her tangled mess of hair, blonde strands matted from the wind whipping around her. Behind her, Romeo continues to cough, squinting at Makarov over her shoulder, eyes watery from the wind. "What was that?" he gasps, glancing between the occupants of the room owlishly, dark hair a bird's nest atop his head.

Makarov sniffs from across the room, grinning at them a bit crookedly. Dark powder speckles his mustache, the tips stained black, and Lucy frowns back at him, concerned. She doesn't know what was in the potion, but she knows it couldn't have been good for him, especially not when it exploded near in his face.

"Tormine Powder," he answers Romeo, dusting himself off. Makarov frowns at his dirtied jacket, sliding it of his shoulder's disdainfully, but his vest and shirt aren't much better. Spots dot the white fabric in various places, and Makarov cringes when he sniffs at one. "And black salt from the south," he adds.

Laxus spits onto the floor, saliva blackened, with blood or the potion, she can't tell. "Poison," he snaps.

Lucy's frown only deepens. She doesn't know much about Tormine Powder, only that it's precious, ground from the Tormine plant found in Minstrel. It's toxic, but she doesn't know the extent. Black salt would account for the smell and color of the mixture. The Black Coast of Joya is famous for the foul smelling salts they create, the beaches murky because of it. She hasn't the faintest clue where Makarov obtained either ingredient, but she doubts she would want to.

Makarov is a good man and a good grandfather to the three of them, but Lucy knows better that to ask about some of his more unsavory trades. He always used to tell her that nothing lucrative can be obtained legally. Absently, her thoughts stray to the necklace at her throat, and she thinks he might be right.

"Not quite," Makarov tells them, coughing slightly. He glances around the room, taking in their disgusted and stupefied expressions with a grin. "Though the smell could certainly curdle milk," he tacks on, sniffing at himself with a sneer. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing as he glances around the room. A dozen potion bottles lay shattered on the floor, contents mixing together slowly, seeping into the wood floors. He sighs, muttering something to himself, and Lucy winces.

It'll cost him to replace the mixtures, and Lucy knows his potions don't come cheap to make or buy.

She glances at Laxus off to her left and he looks near guilty, shame in his eyes, his shoulders drooping. He never has liked to cause trouble for Makarov, not with his work. Laxus always thought he needed to be the responsible one, the adult out of the three, though he was hardly older than Lucy by three years. He has his childish side, of course, but it never involved ruining Makarov's work.

Laxus catches her eye and turns away stiffly, body tensing as he feels her gaze on him.

A rush of anger floods through Lucy when he ignores her. She has no idea what he was thinking provoking a Berserk. He would have had to say something particularly bad to get Natsu to snap the way he did, and she just doesn't understand why he would do something like that. She knows he's angry about everything that's happened, but he could have been seriously hurt. He could have gotten Makarov or Romeo hurt, and _that's_ something she can't ignore.

"How did you know it would work?" Romeo sputters, eyes wide as he stares at Makarov, as if trying to decide whether or not the old man has finally lost it. Lucy stopped asking herself that question ages ago, accepting that Makarov was a bit mad. A great inventor and potions master, but utterly mad at times.

In response to the question, Makarov merely grins.

Lucy stalks over to Laxus, hands shaking as she curls them into fists, rage rippling through her so hot she wonders if he can feel it as she comes to stand next to him, Laxus tensing, though he refuses to look at her. "Laxus," she snaps at him, confused and angry and simply not sure what to think, "what in the Seven Realms of Frell—"

He sneers at her, lips curving back as his head snaps in her direction, cutting her off abruptly. "Me?" he snarls back at her, rising to his full height and towering over her. Lucy doesn't flinch back, unafraid of his scare tactic. It only makes her angrier to see him look down at her, as if he was in the right. "Why don't you ask your Berserker what _he_ did."

Lucy starts to snap back at him, tell him that she knows Natsu didn't start this, that she knows Laxus had to have said something first, but Laxus's gaze slips to her arm and the scars on her shoulder. Lucy's skin prickles, her eyes widening in understanding, but that doesn't make it right.

"Enough," she manages to say, taking a step away from him, jaw clenching tight as she swallows down a bitter retort.

Laxus shakes his head, laughing sarcastically, the sound biting. "First he hurts you and now—"

"I said that's enough," Lucy barks at him, bristling. Laxus looks like he wants to keep arguing, though his magic doesn't rise to the surface. "I don't care who started it," Lucy tells him seriously, practically daring him to pick a fight with her. "Just knock it off."

Laxus nods, slow, his lips pressing into a thin, unimpressed line. He swallows, then shakes his head, a breathy sound leaving him, almost a snort, but not quite. "You're unbelievable," he tells her, glaring. Laxus shoves passed her suddenly, shoulder knocking into her so hard she stumbles to the side. Lucy doesn't watch him leave, jolting when the door slams shut behind him.

It could have been worse, she knows. They could have fought. They could have argued. They could have torn each other to pieces with their words, saying things they would regret come the next morning. If anything, she would call the spat tame compared to others they've had, but something about the quiet makes her stomach twist painfully. She can handle the screaming and the fights, but something about this feels wrong.

Lucy sighs her eyes squeezing shut tightly. Vaguely, she hears Romeo and Makarov muttering to each other, though she doesn't bother to listen in. It's either about her and Laxus or Makarov's concoction, and she has no interest in hearing about one or the other.

Slow footsteps sound in the room, a familiar presence hovering beside her, and Lucy forces her eyes open again, looking up at Natsu with a smile that doesn't begin to reach her eyes. He doesn't smile back at her, he barely meets her gaze, and Lucy lets her lips drop into a frown, not liking the closed up expression on his face. There's something cold about it, icy almost. Natsu has always been so expressive and it just doesn't seem right to see him like that.

Natsu wets his lips, still avoiding her gaze, and Lucy has no idea what she's supposed to say in this moment. With Laxus it's easy. She's known him her entire life, there's nothing left to surprise her anymore. She can handle his outbursts and bite back twice as hard. With Natsu she simply doesn't know how to react sometimes.

"I didn't—" he starts, but cuts himself off quickly. His teeth clack together, his fingers curling and uncurling, as if he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Natsu glances up at her, shifting on his feet.

Lucy nods, taking a deep breath. "I know," she tells him, "I know." He didn't mean to, but he did. She sighs, carding her fingers through her hair. They catch on a snarl, and she drops her hand back to her side, glancing around the messy shop before turning back to Natsu. "Are you okay?" He doesn't look injured, but she knows how he is.

"Yeah." He swallows, wetting his lips. "Yeah, I'm…" he trails off and doesn't finish, shaking his head. He suddenly looks very tired. Slowly, Natsu reaches out for her, fingertips barely grazing her cheek before he stops suddenly, going rigid. Lucy frowns, following his gaze to his hand, and inhales sharply when she sees his split knuckles, blood leaking down his fingers, the skin there bruising to the same color as the one of Laxus' jaw. "I'm gonna take a walk," Natsu tells her suddenly.

She tries not to think about how hard he must have hit Laxus for his hand to bruise like that, but the words don't leave her mouth.

Natsu is out the back door before she can stop him, gone like the smoke from the potion, his name heavy on her tongue. She wants to go after him, but hesitates, knowing he needs time. That's what Makarov told her, they all just need time. It's been too much too fast.

She stays rooted in her spot, staring down at the broken glass around her feet, shards digging into her bare skin, enough to draw blood, but hopefully not too deep. Lucy can't feel the soles of her feet, everything numb after what's happened. It was over so quickly, but something about it feels wrong, drown out, and though it's still early, Lucy suddenly feels exhausted.

A hand finds hers, Romeo leaning in close to her ear. "Want me to keep an eye on Laxus?" he asks, so soft she barely hears him. He squeezes her fingers, head knocking against hers affectionately, but it isn't enough to drag a smile from her.

"Please," she whispers back.

Romeo nods, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, fingers tightening around hers for only a moment. He releases her slowly, lingering as if she might change her mind, but eventually he leaves her, mumbling something to Makarov as he goes, the door closing softly behind him, the click louder than it should be in the too quiet house.

A few moments pass where the room is utterly silent, almost deafeningly so. Lucy forces herself to turn around, assessing the damage. It isn't nearly as bad as she was expecting. A few broken bottles and jars, glass on the floor, but it doesn't look much worse than it always does. Makarov has never been one to keep the shop clean, and if Lucy didn't know better she could almost fool herself into believing nothing happened.

"What happened?" she asks Makarov, ambling over to his desk. She hops onto it, looking down at her feet with a wince. Makarov barely reacts to her voice, his gaze still surveying the room. Lucy crosses one leg over the other, noticing blood on her heels, and sighs as she twists to begin picking at the shards.

"You know how Laxus is," Makarov tells her, shrugging slightly. He stoops to lift a cracked bottle from the floor, frowning at it. "He came in, noticed your friend. Said some slur from Pergrande, Frey knows where he heard it." Makarov shakes his head, straightening and walking over to her. He places the bottle beside her, Lucy pausing in her work. Makarov flashes her a smile. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, Lucy Dear."

She huffs, shaking her head and grimacing when she pulls a short shard from her heel. "How can I not?" She glances up at him, unsure if she truly wants an answer or not. Makarov has tonics for nearly everything. She's sure there's something there to make everything disappear, but she doesn't want that. She's seen what potions can do to people, how they lose all common sense and become unlike themselves.

"Things are different," he reminds her, sighing as he places a hand on her knee. He gives her a reassuring pat, frowning at the thin cuts on her feet. "It'll take time for you all to adjust."

Lucy flinches as he mentions her as well, but doesn't argue. "I know." She closes her eyes for a moment, drinking in the silence. "I just wish…" Lucy can't bring herself to finish, unsure what she wants to say. That things were normal again? That they could all get along? That none of them had lost someone to the Berserks and so Laxus wouldn't hate Natsu on principle alone?

"Don't we all?" Makarov asks. He quirks a brow at her, squeezing her knee once before backing away.

They lapse into silence for several minutes, Makarov cleaning up broken glass and Lucy cleaning the cuts on her feet, holding a bloody rag to her skin, one of Makarov's potions soaking the cloth to help heal the cuts. Lucy catches sight of a familiar object resting beside her, pulsing hungrily. "Did you find anything out about the collars?" she asks, anything to make conversation, though she doubts he's learned anything she didn't already know. There hasn't been much time to learn anything at all.

Instead of answering her, Makarov asks his own question. "What was he like when you first met?" Lucy pauses in her work, staring at his back curiously. Makarov either doesn't notice or doesn't care, inspecting a broken bottle instead. "When you fought him," he clarifies.

Lucy shrugs, trying to picture how he was, but all she can remember is blood and fangs, his hands at her throat. She remembers him being cold, not in touch, but in the way he acted, detached. There was no pleasure in hurting her, only a blankness. "Unresponsive" she settles on, pursing her lips. "Angry. He tossed me around. Bite me."

Makarov nods along with her words. "He could smell it." He glances back at her. "The magic in your blood," he clarifies.

She smiles back at him faintly, remembering Natsu's words form months ago. "He said it smells like stardust," she whispers, voice carrying through the cluttered space.

"I don't know what you expected me to learn, Lucy," he tells her softly, sighing as he looks at her, expression softening. "It is as you said. Dark magic. A curse rather than a blessing." He strokes his mustache, lips pursed, but says nothing else.

Lucy sighs in frustration. "But how?" she snaps. "Only Fae can cast curses like this." She stares down at the collar in disgust, the red gem gleaming mockingly. "Even if the Centaris had the blade and could steal magic they couldn't…"

"They couldn't place a curse, I know," Makarov finishes for her.

Lucy's fingers hover over the glinting gold. "It doesn't make sense," she whispers.

* * *

 **AN:** **Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.**


	42. Arc Two: Chapter 6

**AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure to leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter Six**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

He finds himself at the Sola tree. The branches tower over him, red leaves glinting in the afternoon light, rustling in the gentle breeze sweeping around him. The entire tree seems to quiver with the wind, branches twisting together like vines, the bark bone white against the green of the glade. The Ellyra doesn't sing this time, speaking in a familiar voice. It's gone quiet, almost unnervingly so. He knows a soul resides inside the gnarled bark, and absently he wonders where it's gone.

Shaking his head, Natsu turns away from the tree, glancing around the clearing with interest. It looks the same as it did only a few nights earlier, the stream still gurgling noisily, birds making soft sounds in the surrounding trees, cooing to each other. Off in the distance, a dog barks, the sound faint, but recognizable. The bell at the tower in Magnolia chimes, the sound echoing through the clearing, making his ears ring.

He isn't entirely used to the new noises yet. Everything is different from how it was in Pergrande. In the Empire it was loud, a constant buzz of noise at all times, snarls from the Berserks and the screams of men, dogs barking, music seeping through the walls from the ballrooms above. It would have been too much noise, if he wasn't accustomed to it after so many years of living in the capital. He's almost surprised it never drove him mad.

Magnolia is different in that regard. The town is quieter, near secluded. It reminds him of Jorah, cut off, but not really. Magnolia is smaller than Jorah, and there are cities nearby, rather than miles and miles of forests and mountains. Magnolia wasn't built to be a fort, merely a small, comfortable town. He hasn't been to town yet, but he imagines it's a warm place, inviting to strangers, though perhaps not to him.

Natsu turns back to the tree, peering up at it's branches curiously, tracing them with his eyes. He takes a step closer to the giant, footsteps silent as he walks through the grass, mindful of his steps. He doesn't know what it is about this place, but it feels different from the rest of the forest, an energy and a stillness clinging to the air, almost electric. The entire glade smells of magic, faint but noticeable to him, and familiar magic at that. It's stronger than the scent that clings to Lucy and her family, older, but more powerful, the bloodline thicker.

It's the clinging scent of a relative long since passed, several decades old, purely Fae, no weakened smell from human blood. He takes a deep breath, nearly sneezing when the smell of stardust clouds his senses, threatening to choke him. For a moment, it overwhelms him, making him cough and sputter, but he forces himself to take another breath, swallowing down the thick taste on his tongue.

Natsu hadn't realized how strong the smell of a Fae would be. He's only ever caught wisps of the scent from people and objects, the scent diluted. Lucy told him early on that her magic was a small thing, not nearly as powerful as it had been in previous generations, but he's only beginning to understand how powerful the Fae must have been.

He's seen Lucy's magic with his own eyes, watched it grow through he hadn't realized it much at the time. And Laxus is a powerful magic user himself. The ancient Fae must have been terrible and beautiful creatures, enchanting and wicked. All of that magic could have been used for anything, it could have destroyed worlds. And he imagines it did, long in the past.

And to siphon all of that magic away…

Natsu shakes his head dispelling the thought. His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, fingers finding the scar on his throat, long and pale and raised. It healed well, smooth to the touch, but his skin crawls when he remembers the feel of the King's blade ripping through him.

He sucks in a deep breath, hand falling back to his side without a word. His hand curls into a loose fist, his nails scrapping lightly against his skin. Absently, he glances down at his hands. Bruises bleed red and blue along his knuckles, darkening slightly, but not as bad as they could have been. The first knuckle on his right hand has split open, blood leaking between his fingers and dripping to the ground. It's worse than it was when he left the house.

Wincing, he looks away from his hands, turning back to the tree. He hadn't meant to hit Laxus so hard that they'd both bleed, but he can't bring himself to regret it. He's spent years feeling remorse for the fights he's been forced into, little choice but to rip others apart, but this time was different. The choice was his. He snapped, but it wasn't due to a magical stone pressed to his throat or the threat of violence hanging over him. This time it was pure, unaltered rage. It was _him_.

Natsu isn't sure how to feel about what happened. He's been trying so hard to keep his temper in check, to control his violence, but—the way the blood roared in his ears as Natsu slipped through the backdoor of Makarov's shop, his heart still beating wildly, a thrill running through him, fire rushing through his veins, it was like a long forgotten memory. It was exhilarating, letting go. He hadn't meant to, and in some ways he wishes he hadn't snapped the way he did, but it felt good— _right_.

Igneel once told him that the beast wasn't meant to be contained. Controlled, yes, but never ignored, locked away in the back of his mind. It's damaging to do so. Keeping that part of him caged would only make it more violent when it was finally released. It's why the guards at the Domus Flau would only allow the older Berserks to fights once every three weeks in rotation. It made them violent, near bloodthirsty, to be kept away from the fights for so long, caged with nowhere to go.

As a child he never quite noticed how Igneel's fingers would start to twitch after several days in the cage. He would pace more and snap at the guards walking by, eager to be let out, but constantly denied.

Natsu hasn't let go in months. He's been on the edge several times, but even when he wanted to he never and though he wishes he hadn't hurt anyone, he feels lighter somehow, better, a fog lifted from his mind.

His anger is a part of him, a part of Berserk nature, and he won't lock that part of him away. Yet, he still needs to learn control. He was never taught how to turn that anger into something less violent. Natsu won't pretend he doesn't enjoy the thrill of the fight, he always has. He enjoys the way it makes his heart race and his bones hum with something like fire, his blood burning through his veins.

It was nothing like when he used to wear the collar, though he could feel a lingering affect from the cursed object, the dark magic worming through his mind, still powerful even when it wasn't around his throat. He was lucid this time, at least mostly.

His heartbeat spikes as he remembers the red in his vision, the thrum of power that rushed through him, and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. His head throbs, his fingers twitching, aching for another fight, and Natsu bites his tongue to keep himself from screaming. A violent need settles low in his stomach, a wanting for another fight, and he bites down on his tongue so hard he tastes blood in his mouth.

For only a moment, Natsu allows himself to relish in the feeling of being able to fight back, of allowing himself to be what and who he is. His pulse stutters for a second before evening out once more, Natsu taking a deep breath as his breathing returns to normal. He spits out the blood leaking from his tongue, wiping his bloody knuckles on the torn fabric of his pants, smearing the blood across his hands.

As much as he wants to justify himself, he can't. Laxus was an ass, his words barbed and meant to make him snap, but it doesn't excuse Natsu. Laxus has every right to mistrust him, even if Natsu would like to believe otherwise. He can't expect that to change so easily, and he doubts attacking the Faeborne helped him in that regard.

Regardless of the justification, Natsu still snapped. He could have killed someone. He likely would have killed someone if it weren't for whatever spell Makarov threw between them. He needs to be able to control it.

Natsu blinks up at the tree, wincing at the sunlight spilling through the branches, and settles himself down onto the ground. The grass tickles at his bare back, making his nose wrinkle, but he ignores it, tracing the patterns in the tree bark with his eyes. His shoulders relax as he listens to the sounds of the trees, the woods making soft noises, soothing and quiet.

The stream babbles as he sinks onto the ground, water sloshing noisily against the rocky bank, gurgling and groaning, almost alive. It snakes through the glade, cutting it nearly in half as it wanders from where the sun rises to where it sets, trickling off into the woods. He nearly followed it the first time he saw it, wandering with it for a day before turning back, unsure where it would lead him, a lake perhaps, or maybe the ocean.

Natsu would like to see the coast again, smell the salt in the air. He doesn't remember much about the north lands, only the biting chill of winter and the salt that would cling to his skin and hair, coating his tongue when he would speak. He remembers the summer being beautiful, the snow melting into nothing for only a few weeks every year, the wildflowers blooming rapidly, there one day and gone the next, falling to rest when the frost returned.

He hasn't seen the ocean in years, Ðüskell locked in the middle of the Pergrande, and the Domus Flau hidden away in the darkest parts of Crocus, nowhere near the coast for fear of attacks from the sea. Magnolia, he thinks, is near the ocean, maybe a few days journey, maybe more. He'd have to ask Lucy sometime. Maybe one day soon he'll be able to see the ocean ago, the miles and miles of water, the gulls crying out, the salt clinging to him.

It won't be like the icy waters of The North, with the water so dark it looked near black against the snow and ice of the land, icebergs adrift in the deep water, the current near violent during the winter storms. He doesn't imagine the oceans of Fiore being anything like that. They'd be placid, a calm sea, the waters warm during the summer months.

Despite their differences, he'd like to see it, if only for a moment.

Natsu releases a heavy breath, raking his fingers through the long crass at his sides. He twists the stalks between his fingers, playing with them absently as he looks around the glade, mapping it in his mind. He isn't sure how he found himself here once again, seemingly drawn to the quiet and the magic of the tree. He hadn't meant to wander so close again, his fight with Lucy still a bitter memory.

Wetting his lips, he leans forward, propping his elbows against his knees and eyeing the Ellyra critically, willing it to speak, but if stays silent, tall and proud and seeming to mock him. The branches twist in the air, moving unnaturally, sentient, and a handful of leaves snap from the branches, raining down on him gently.

He plucks a leaf from his hair, twirling it between his fingers slowly. The leaf seems to glint in the light, an almost metallic sheen making the red glossy. Natsu runs his finger along the edge of the leaf and it folds under his touch, crinkling at the edge. A breeze whirls around him and Natsu releases the leaf, letting it be ripped away from his fingers, his eyes following it as it disappears off into the distance.

Natsu's gaze returns to the tree, his eyes tracing patterns in the bark. Something takes shape in the knots and scars on the trunk, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees what looks like a face. It's faint, but he can make out a pair of eyes, a nose, downturned lips, as if someone was pressing themself through. The sight of it unnerves him, something pulling at the back of his mind, though he doesn't know what.

"I see you found the tree again," a familiar voice speaks up from behind him. Natsu doesn't jump at the sound, the presence familiar to him. He's nearly surprised that he didn't hear her walking up behind him, but blames it on the tree and the forest calming him.

Natsu wets his lips, swallowing. "It's like you said," he tells her in return, smiling slightly when she steps up behind him, hesitating for only a moment before settling down beside him on the grass, "it seems to call people here." Their conversation from days ago comes back to him, her words echoing through his mind, and he takes some comfort from them.

Lucy hums beside him, seemingly in agreement. "It's probably for the best," she muses, a lilt of amusement to her words. He glances at her over his shoulder, raising a brow, and she purses her lips. Lucy shifts on the grass, crossing her legs beneath her and leaning back on her hands, eyes on the tree as she squints through the sunlight. "People have become lost in these woods," she murmurs, glancing at him briefly. "Some never find their way out."

"Did you?" he asks. Lucy startles, frowning at him in confusion and he turns back to the tree. "Did you ever get lost?" he clarifies. His fingers twist through the loose fabric of his pants, plucking at a thread absently. He cocks his head towards Lucy, waiting for her to speak, her silence comfortable between them.

"Once," she tells him after several minutes. She sits up slowly, moving her legs out from under her and tucking her knees against her chest, chin propped against them. He turns to her as she continues, blinking down at her with interest. "My mom found me. I was only missing for a few hours at most." She glances up at him, smiling faintly. "Laxus was supposed to be watching me, but he wasn't very good at it," she says, grinning. "Granted, he was only twelve at the time. Thought he was more responsible than he actually was."

Lucy snorts and Natsu finds himself grinning along with her, her amusement contagious.

"What happened?" he murmurs, eyes slipping shut as her magic washes over him, covering him like a blanket. He relaxes as she moves closer to him, her side pressing against his as she leeches warmth from him, hair tickling at his arm. He forces his eyes open once again, but Lucy isn't looking at him, her eyes locked on the Sola tree.

Briefly, Natsu wonders if she's trying to distract him from the conversation they should be having, and a part of him is grateful for that. He doesn't want to talk about this morning, about how he snapped like that. He thought he had better control than that, but maybe he was wrong.

"I wandered off the path," she tells him, fingers drumming against her thigh, a slow, steady pattern that matches the beating of his heart. "I don't remember why," she continues, shoulders shifting when she shrugs. "I don't remember anything from that day, for the most part." She goes quiet for a long moment, lost in her thoughts, and Natsu presses his shoulder to hers, unsure what to say.

She glances up at him at his touch, smiling slightly, though there's a dark shadow in her eyes that he doesn't recognize. Not anger or fear, but something else he can't place. He searches her gaze, trying to figure out what it is, but she looks away before he can place the odd look. "They looked for me everywhere," Lucy wets her lips, arms curling tighter around herself, "afraid I'd wandered to close to the cliffs between here and Onimus."

Natsu tries to place the distance in his head, only vaguely familiar with the name. Igneel might have mentioned it to him once or twice, just as he did with Magnolia. He was part of the rings back when there were several throughout Fiore, a dozen, perhaps more. They used to trade berserks between the rings, selling the strongest fighters for a decent profit. Onimus must be a good twenty miles from Magnolia, if he remembers correctly. The city further north.

"That's a long ways for a child to walk," he notes. Her magic stirs within her, her stardust smell growing stronger, though it's nearly masked by that of the Ellyra. The tree smells different from all of the others they saw in Pergrande, stronger. the others never smelled like much of anything at all, simply trees that spoke in hushed sounds, calling out to them as they passed.

Lucy's magic brushes against him like a caress, warm and familiar, and he leans into the phantom touch, his shoulder pressing more firmly against hers.

"You would think so," Lucy laughs, making him grin. She glances up at him, the shadow gone from her eyes, replaced with amusement. "I had a habit of getting into trouble when I was younger," she tells him, seeming proud of herself.

His lips twitch fondly. "You still do," he reminds her, snorting in amusement. It seems an ill timed joke to him, but Lucy's smile only grows, her laughter pattering off as she turns back to the tree, staring at it as if it might give her answers to a question she hasn't asked.

Lucy sighs. "Maybe," she murmurs back to him, staring at the face in the tree with interest. Her magic reaches out for the tree, rustling the branches with a strong gust. She falls silent again, expression going blank as she eyes the tree blankly, gaze far away.

Natsu decides to bring her back. He knocks his shoulder against hers roughly, enough to startle her, but not hurt her. Lucy makes a soft sound as he leans too far into her, jostling her, and she sends him a nasty look that he doesn't see, his eyes on the tree. "How'd she find you?" he asks, curiosity brimming. Something about hearing her old stories makes him light-hearted, calmer than he was. It's the way she tells them, losing herself to the memories.

"It was dark," she begins slowly, closing her eyes and leaning against him, mulling over the words before telling him. "Nearly midnight. Winter. It gets cold in Magnolia at night." He nods, head tilting down to rest against the top of hers. "She came to the Sola Tree for help." Lucy's fingers drum against her knees. "She was going to plead with the Gods to find me, to keep me from being lost, wandering forever."

"And did the Gods answer?"

"They didn't need to," Lucy says. She wets her lips, humming to herself for a moment. "She found me under the Sola Tree." Her fingers stop moving, her hand falling slack at her side. "I was completely fine. Like I hadn't been lost at all."

They sit in silence for a long time, neither of them knowing what to say. Natsu bites his tongue to keep from asking more questions, not knowing how much he should pry. Lucy hasn't told him much about her mother, and he recognizes sensitive subject, having his own. He won't push for more than she's already given.

"This is Anna's tree," Lucy tells him suddenly, pulling away from his side. His eyes snap around to look at her, Lucy rising to her feet. She takes a step forward, then another, moving until she's right in front of the giant tree, the Ellyra towering over her. "She was the last full Fae from our family line. That was over one hundred years ago." Lucy glances at him over her shoulder, expression blank yet pensive, eyeing him curiously. "She barely made it to Fiore before the full height of the Pergrande revolt. Almost died in the first wave of the slaughter." Lucy turns to face him again, resting her back against the trunk of the tree, half in shadow. "They buried her here when she died."

Natsu doesn't know what to say for a long moment, taking it all in, unsure what to think.

He stares up at the Ellyra, at the face pressing through the bark. It has a name now, Anna. He knew the trees housed the souls of the dead, but he never really took the time to think about what that meant. It's a strange thing, really, how they're alive even after they've been gone for nearly a hundred years, sometimes even longer.

He doesn't know what makes him say it, but the words are on his tongue before he can stop himself. "She sounds like you," Natsu tells Lucy, so soft she doesn't appear to hear him at first, but then her eyes snap around to meet his, widening only the slightest at the edges, flashing a burning gold.

"You heard her?" Lucy snaps, pushing away from the tree. She takes a step forward, then stops, staring at him wide-eyed. Her lips part, mouth dropped open in surprise. Her fingers twitch at her sides, hands moving like she doesn't know what to do with them, and Natsu narrows his eyes at the bewilderment in her gaze.

Slowly, Natsu nods. "I thought I heard you singing," is all he says in reply, tongue sticking in his mouth. Lucy's expression confuses him, her eyes almost too bright, but when he blinks she's fine again, back resting against the tree like she hadn't moved at all.

Natsu pushes himself to his feet, joints cracking as he stands. Absently, he wonders how long he was sitting there, the sky seeming darker than it was only moments ago, time slipping away from him. Lucy watches as he shifts on his feet, her gaze flickering to his bruised hand and then to his eyes, something critical in her gaze.

"Are you okay?" she asks him suddenly, crossing her arms, eyes locked with his. Her expression slips into one of concern, her teeth pulling at her lower lip.

Natsu glances down at his knuckles, flexing his fingers slightly. They aren't nearly as bad as he thought they were before. Most of the blood has dried, clotted, though the scabs crack when he bends his fingers, a small amount of blood weeping from the wound. The bruises will be bad for a few days, but it's nothing of concern. Natsu knows that's not what she means though. "Just a scratch," he says, voice rough.

Lucy purses her lips, back straightening, and he realizes she isn't fooled by his easy response. They both know what she means, and Natsu is beginning to learn how little tolerance she has for people playing the fool. "Natsu," she begins, voice clipped, but he doesn't let her finish.

"Lucy, I'm fine," he promises. It sounds like a lie even to him, but he would never admit aloud how much his fight earlier rattled him. Everything went red and it was like being back in Pergrande again, only this time it was only him. He had no one to blame but himself, and that scared him. It terrified him more than he can comprehend.

"Are you?" she asks him, and there's a quiver to her words that make him still, Natsu half-turned away from her. He glances at her over his shoulder, his eyes going wide when he sees the slight trembling in her hands, her pupils shrunken down so small the gold in her eyes seems to swallow them. A spike of fear crawls from her, making the scent of her turn bitter.

He wets his lips, knowing the answer even before he asks the question. "What does that mean?" His hands clench tightly, more blood slipping between his fingers, and Lucy takes a slow step closer to him, hesitating for only a moment.

"You didn't stop, Natsu," she tells him, voice thick, crackling when she speaks. He turns around to face her directly, fingers twitching. Lucy rips her eyes away from his for a moment, her arms coming up to wrap around herself, fingers biting into her skin. "I called out your name, and you didn't stop." She looks at him, a shade paler than normal, and Natsu takes a step towards her without realizing it. "It's like you didn't even hear me."

He winces, all of his pride from before turning to shame. He doesn't know what happened earlier, only that he didn't feel like himself. Everything happened so fast, a fog settling over him, and he didn't realize what he did until that potion blew up between them. And that's not who he wants to be. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt the people he cares about. He won't be that person.

He swallows down the lump in his throat, wetting his lips. Natsu's eyes squeeze shut, "I'm trying to be better," he promises her, voice cracking horribly when he speaks. Lucy moves, but he doesn't open his eyes. The wind whips around him, seeming to pull him forward, but he doesn't move, anchored in place.

Soft fingertips settle on his jaw, cool hands pulling him down. Natsu sighs as Lucy pulls him into her, thumbs drawing circles against his skin. "I know," she whispers, so soft he almost doesn't hear her. She smooths the frown from his face, her hair tickling his chest. "But you don't have to do that by yourself."

* * *

 **AN:** **Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.**


	43. Arc Two: Chapter 7

**AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter Seven**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

The flickering lights strung through the trees seem like stars in the low night, each fire crystal casting a faint glow throughout the clearing. The Sola Tress is decorated with dozens of them, each no larger than Lucy's fist, and it casts a magnificent gleam around the clearing, the Sola Tree appearing in flames, a trick of the mind. Where Makarov obtained so many Minstrel fire crystals, Lucy can't be sure, but they've turned the clearing into a warm, hazy place that she wants to fall into, the moon and stars bright in the sky, casting enough light for their festivities.

She glances across the clearing, spotting Romeo near the edge of the woods, surrounded by a small group of friends. He throws his head back in a laugh, tossing an arm around one of his friends, and lights up when he meets her eyes from across the glade. Romeo grins at her, the fire crystals making his eyes flicker in the darkness, and Lucy finds herself smiling back at him when he mouths her name.

The present in her pocket weighs heavy against her hip, thudding against her side whenever she takes a step. Her fingers slink into her pocket, finding her gift for him easily. Her hand clenches around it, tracing the delicate design carved into the top. Lucy hopes he likes it. A lump rises in her throat, Lucy chewing her lip nervously.

She was so sure he would adore it when she first left home, but now she can't be so sure. Lucy was gone for months, and so much can change in that amount of time. She's only been home for a week, she hasn't yet had the time to meet her family for the second time. Things have been strained between them. Conversations with Laxus are clipped, and Romeo seems quieter than usual, a bit soft spoken, though not caustic.

He's wary of Natsu, the Berserk always near her side, following behind her like some kind of shadow. She can't blame him for that, they've all lost people to the Berserks, even those not controlled by Pergrande. Romeo lost his father when he was younger than either Lucy or Laxus, hardly remembering Macao, but that doesn't take away the lingering fear.

Even now, Lucy finds herself afraid of the Berserks, even if she has a better understanding of them. She knows better than to think every one of them is like Natsu. While she trusts his word that some are good, like Igneel was, she isn't foolish enough to believe some wouldn't tear her to pieces even without the collars.

At times, she thinks of the Berserk that found them just outside of Jorah, how he chose to attack them on his own volition, uncaring of their lives. Natsu told her that some Berserks choose the bloodlust over anything else, reveling in the chaos they create. In a sick way, she understands. Power is a dangerous thing, it tears people apart, destroying them from the inside. Fear breeds power.

She clenches the gift tighter in her fist, her other hand finding the necklace draped around her throat, a comforting weight. The chain tangles with her fingers, cool from the night against her skin, and she hums to herself as she watches Romeo turn back to his friends, her foot rooted in place, something holding her there. The crystal in her pocket begins to warm, heating nearly to the point of burning her, and she releases it with a gasp, eyes snapping to her palm, a faint red mark appearing on her skin.

Lucy certainly hopes he likes it.

Someone comes up behind her, casting a dark shadow across her form. Lucy glances up, smiling as a familiar weight settles against her back. An arm snakes around her front tugging her against a large, warm figure. Natsu ducks his chin, pressing his forehead against the side of her head, breath puffing against her hair and making the strands dance, her hair turned to gold in the amber glow from the fire crystals.

Rough lips press to her temple, only for a moment before Natsu releases her, stepping back. Lucy turns around to face him with a small smile, glad to see him more like himself again. The few days since he came back have been tense, with both Natsu and Laxus more irritable than usual. Since their fight, Natsu has been wary, spending more time in the woods. She's found him by the Sola tree more than once, staring at it like it might have answers. She wishes it did.

Goose bumps rise on her skin, Lucy feeling eyes on her, and she knows they're being watched by someone in the glade, a stranger trying to figure out exactly what Natsu is. She doesn't know what might happen if everyone were to find there's a Berserk among them, but she doubts it would be a pretty thing.

Instead of dwelling on the thought, she grins at him, watching his eyes turn a shade darker in the moonlight, green turned near black. For a moment it unnerves her, but his hand finds hers suddenly, lifting her palm skyward and running a finger down the faint welt marring her skin.

She takes a moment to really look at him as he drags a finger along her reddened skin, his lips downturned and brow pinched as he observes the mild burn. He looks clean for the first time since she met him, the dirt and blood washed away, his wounds finally healed after so long. He isn't nearly as thin in the face as he was when they first met, his arms bulkier with muscle gained during their travels. Natsu was already strong when they first met, perhaps even more so now.

His clothes are new, much like her own, his dark pants styled the same as his last, though free of tears and no longer falling apart, they found him a pair of boots no longer torn at the heels, the buckles a shimmering gold to match the red and gold cloth belted at his hips. She asked him once why he kept it, the colors of Pergrande standing out in Fiore, and the clothes a keepsake of bad memories.

Natsu only smiled at her then, telling her he liked the look of it, told her it Pergrande doesn't control him anymore. He allowed Lucy to fix the holes in the fabric, sewing it back together one night while they talked by the fire, the house quiet and dark. She can admit that the fabric is soft, comfortable to wear, and the color is nice on him, though she hopes he never feels trapped here like he was in Pergrande.

She hadn't managed to get him into a shirt, his torso as bare as ever. Perhaps one day she'll get him into something, but she won't push him for now. Lucy herself doesn't mind much, and her family has gotten relatively used to Natsu walking around, looking very much a wolf among sheep. Their party guests aren't nearly as welcoming, eyeing hiM warily and staying far away, as if he might snap.

"You haven't given it to him yet?" Natsu murmurs, leaning in to nose at her hair, fingers caressing the slight burn on her hand. His free hand bumps against her side, nudging the object hidden by the soft fabric of her coat, feeling the heat of Romeo's present resting against her hip. Natsu looks down at her curiously, lacing his fingers through hers as he stares into her eyes.

Lucy sighs, squeezing his fingers before letting her hand slip from his. Natsu dips his chin, leaning down to meet her gaze, his nose bumping against her cheek, and pulls a small smile from Lucy. She glances back at him, softening when she sees the concern in his gaze, his green eyes wide, brows narrowed just a tick. Lucy leans into his touch, knocking her head against his gently, and a low sound pulls from his throat, soft, his breath puffing against her hair.

"What if he doesn't like it?" she asks Natsu, chin tilting up to meet his eyes. He only frowns, brows knitting together, and reaches up to cup her cheek, fingers warm against her skin. Lucy's lips twitch when his thumb sweeps along her jaw, so light she can barely feel it. Swallowing, she lowers her gaze again, capturing her lip between her teeth.

Things change so quickly between people, for better and worse.

Natsu's frown deepens at her quiet words, his brow pinched, and then he snorts, amusement flitting across his face before he shakes his head. Lucy's eyes narrow in return, unsure where he's found the humor in her predicament, but not enjoying the slight quirk of his lips.

Her lips part, a barbed remark on her tongue, but Natsu silences her when he curls his arms around Lucy's waist, dragging her up against him. He presses his face against her hair, mouth by her ear, and nuzzles her, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. "He loves you," Natsu reminds her, twisting to press his lips to her temple. "Whatever you give him, I'm sure he'd love it either way." The words are breathed against her skin, so quiet she almost doesn't catch them, Natsu more subdued than usual.

Lucy curls her arms around him in return, holding him for a long moment as the tension seeps from her like water. Natsu's fingers tangle through her hair, pulling at a small, stray braid teasingly, and she feels him grin against her hair, a mischievous thing. Lucy tilts her head to the side, pressing her ear to his chest, lulled by the steady beat of his heart.

"Have a little faith in them," Natsu continues after a long moment of silence, his arms wound tight around her, fingers tracing shapes along a bare strip of skin at her hip. Lucy tenses, aware that he isn't simply talking about Romeo and his birthday gift any longer.

She's always had faith in Laxus and Romeo, more than she thinks she should, at times. Romeo has always been an encouraging presence in her life, doing his best to support everyone and simply wanting the best for his family. Laxus has always been the strong one, her backbone when she needed him, but now it's like she hardly knows him. He's angry with her, and Lucy understands, she does, but it's like he doesn't trust her to know what's right.

She wouldn't have brought Natsu here if she thought he would hurt her family, and Laxus' insinuation that she would do something so foolish and fickle as to bring a dangerous man to her home simply because of pity or her feelings hurts more than anything else. He knows her better than that. At least, he used to. She doesn't want to fight with him, but she won't take his anger lying down, not when he won't even listen to her.

Eventually, Lucy nods against Natsu's chest, her grip on him tight before she unwinds herself from his arms, taking a small step back, putting distance between them. Natsu merely watches her, expression revealing nothing. Lucy slips her hand back into her pocket, fingers clenching around the warm stone in her pocket, rubbing her thumb along the smooth surface slowly as she stares up at Natsu.

Her gaze slips from his, wandering to where Romeo stands towards the edge of the woods, still speaking with his friends. Lucy watches him for a moment, and Romeo turns, as if feeling her gaze. His eyes lock with hers, a grin lighting up his expression once again. Her brother catches sight of Natsu standing beside her, but his smile doesn't slip. Lucy relaxes when Romeo merely turns back to his friends, sighing in relief when she doesn't sense any anger coming from him.

Lucy glances up at Natsu, reaching for his hand slowly, and he looks down at her, head cocking to the side as his fingers link through hers. "Will you be all right here by yourself?" she asks him, not wanting to leave him in the midst of strangers.

His lips press into a thin line, brow furrowing. Slowly, he glances around the glade, taking in the multitude of strangers. Natsu shifts on his feet, his free hand clenching into a fist. "I might take a walk," he admits quietly.

Lucy nods, and he disappears from her side slowly, slinking away into the shadows after pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She feels eyes on them, a gaze burning against her back, but she doesn't bother to look, already knowing who it is.

She'll deal with him later.

Her fingers curl tight around the stone in her pocket, a pleasant warmth spreading through her fingers and up her arm. For a moment she's reminded of the aching sensation in her arm from weeks ago, the prickling sensation on her skin, but it's gone as soon as it comes, and Lucy shakes her head, banishing the thoughts quickly, not wanting to dwell on them during such a celebratory time.

Romeo's birthday came quickly, sneaking up on Lucy, something that's never happened before. Usually she's more on top of things, and it isn't that she forgot, per se. Romeo's birthday has been at the front of her mind for weeks, it's the one thing she never stopped thinking about, not wanting to miss it. It simply came quicker than she realized after returning home. The entire week seeming to pass by far too quickly, there and gone. It was too much to process at once, she's home, but Laxus won't talk to her, and Romeo's came sooner than expected, the dates a mess to her.

Things have been foggy to her since she woke up in Bosco, she slept for a long time, her nightmares constant, and there was no escaping them. It's simply been one thing after another since then, everything moving faster than she remembered.

She never would have remembered the date if it hadn't been for Makarov dropping hints to her the day before. It nearly sent her into a blind panic, thinking she forgot and realizing the date came much quicker than she was expecting. Thankfully, everything was already planned. Lucy had his gift stashed away, ready and waiting, and though originally they planned to take a trip to Crocus to celebrate, those plans were easily brushed aside. There was no time for them to travel there in time, and Lucy wouldn't dare bring Natsu to the capital, fearing the worst could happen.

Makarov was quick to move the party to the glade, eagerly sending Romeo off to watch the shop in town as the rest of them set up lights and moved tables into the grassy space. They ended up finishing early, Jellal and Natsu added help Makarov wasn't expecting.

Lucy smiles fondly as she crosses the clearing, boots moving silently across the grass, Lucy practically a ghost in her movements. Romeo never sees her coming, his back to her as he talks to his friends, a pair of girls no older than him, their eyes bright and their grins large. Their gazes flick to Lucy as she comes close, expressions turning sly as they begin talking animatedly, waving their arms around and clearly trying to distract Romeo, though her dear, sweet younger brother doesn't appear to notice.

Romeo has always been a tad clueless, though his heart is in the right place.

Lucy grins as she steps up behind him, Romeo laughing at something one of the girls said, and she has to fight back a laugh when she tosses her arms around him from behind.

Romeo startles, gasping, and nearly smacks her as he flails, glancing over his shoulder to peer down at her, eyes blown wide with confusion. His friends giggle as Romeo wobbles on his feet, unsteady with Lucy clinging to him from behind. The girls leave while Romeo is distracted, his neck twisted at an odd angle to see her, a grin lighting up his entire face. "Lucy!" He twisting in her arms, long limbs wrapping around her as he lifts her straight off the ground, dangling her several inches in the air and twirling them around.

He buries his face against her shoulder, squeezing her so tightly she loses her breath for a moment. "Got you," she laughs against his ear, though she thinks perhaps it might be the other way around. Romeo laughs with her, arms tightening around her waist for a moment before he sets her down, though he doesn't release her for a moment.

"Why are you being mean to me?" Romeo jokes, pulling back enough to meet her eyes. His lips quirk into a small smile, a mischievous look in his gaze that Lucy is familiar with. Though he's always been a sweet kid, Romeo has always been something of a prankster, more teasing than anything else.

Lucy snorts, grinning and reaching out to tap him on the nose affectionately. "Because I'm your sister," she reminds him, "and that's what I do."

He snorts, then laughs as he shakes his head, expression fond when he grins down at her. "You sound like Laxus," he informs her, and for a second her smile slips, Laxus' coldness to her still a sore spot. Romeo's own smile dims in response to her silence, his gaze apologetic as he looks at her, and it makes something like guilt curl in her stomach, Lucy not wanting to make him feel bad for something like this. She knows he means well.

Instead of responding to the joke, Lucy tells her what she came to say to begin with. "Happy birthday," she whispers against his ear, dragging him down into a tight hug. He holds her just as fiercely, Lucy hardly able to breathe as he clings to her, not daring to let her go. "You're finally growing up," she teases, fingers wiggling against his sides and making him squirm as she tickles him.

"Not too fast, I hope," he murmurs back, nosing at her, Lucy feeling him smile against her hair. She sighs, perfectly content in that moment, and she relaxes for the first time since she's come home. Laxus may not have forgiven her yet, but she should have known better than to think Romeo would stay angry for long.

She shakes her head, knocking her temple against his. "Nah," she muses, "just enough." They stay there for a long moment, clinging to each other, afraid to let go. Lucy works her fingers through his hair, Romeo sighing slightly, and Lucy releases him, taking a step back so she can look at him, her hand digging into her pocket. "This is for you."

Lucy pulls the warm stone from her pocket, and Romeo's eyes widen slightly when he sees the gem, his lips parting in awe. The stone warms against her palm, red light flickering from deep inside the gem, a soft pulsing reminiscent of a heartbeat, or a flame. Her skin tingles where it touches the rock, and Lucy fights to keep her emotions tame, no wanting flames to burst from the stone.

"What is it?" he asks softly, reaching out with tentative hands. Lucy smiles as she slides the stone into his palms, Romeo cupping the stone, wonder in his gaze. A flame no larger than an ember sparks against the rock, dim, but alive.

Another small flame jumps from the gemstone, fire twisting around his hands almost playfully, teasing as it winds around his fingers, careful not to burn him. "It's an Encan fire stone," she explains, an amused lilt to her voice as he stares at the fire, wide-eyed. "I know you've always liked to play with fire," she jokes. Romeo is too good for petty envy over the rest of his family's Faeborne blood, but she wants him to feel like he truly belongs. "Besides, if you're going to the markets, you're going to want some magic."

The fire stills in his hands, and Romeo's eyes snap up to meet hers. "Lucy?" he whispers, confused.

She only grins back at him, Romeo suddenly appearing much younger than he truly is. His lips part, a silent question in his eyes, Romeo unable to find the right words. The flames flicker, dancing around his fingers, careful not to burn him. "You're one of us now, Kid," Lucy jokes, her hair whipping around her face as her magic stirs, curling through the air gently.

"Where did you…" he trails off, shaking his head as a laugh bubbles up from his throat. "How?" Romeo's gaze tears from hers as he stares down at the flame in his hands, fascinated by the soft dim orange wicks of fire lick at his skin, so close Lucy fears he might hurt himself. But the fire doesn't burn him, the stone's magic reacting to Romeo's joy, flames warm but not scalding.

He shakes his head, the flames going out as he shoves the stone into his pocket, his arms wrapping her tightly as he drags her in for a hug. His grip around her is near suffocating, but Lucy only laughs and squeezes him back twice as hard. "Thank you," Romeo whispers against her ear, and Lucy can hear the smile in his voice.

"There's still magic in the world," she reminds him softly, rubbing his back in small circles, feeling him tremble against her. Romeo nods in response, the words familiar to them both. Even in such dark times, magic hasn't left them yet.

He pulls back slightly, keeping an arm tossed around her back. "Lucy," he whispers, breath foggy in the night air, so soft she barely hears him at first, "you didn't have to get me anything." He sends her her favorite lop-sided grin, the right corner of his mouth tugged up higher than the left, Romeo's expression bashful but honest as he stares at her, perhaps a tad melancholy.

She scoffs, shaking her head. "Of course I did." Lucy steps out of his grasp, placing a hand on her cocked hip and sending him a teasing look. "It's your birthday." She reaches up to tweak his nose, and Romeo shakes his head, grinning down at her fondly.

"I already got what I wanted," he replies quietly, running a hand through his messy hair as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying the skin until it pinkens, raw from the biting. Lucy blinks back at him, confused, and Romeo refuses to meet her eyes for a minutes, staring down at his feet and scuffing his boots against the damp grass, shifting awkwardly.

Lucy swallows, her eyes narrowing as she stares back at him, wondering what he means by that. She tried so hard to get something she thought he'd like, so she knows that isn't the problem. "Was it from Laxus?" she jokes, lips quirking up at the edges as she snorts, shaking her head. "Gods he ruins everything." Lucy glances across the glade to where Laxus still stands beside the Sola tree, gaze locked on her, his lips pressed into a thin line.

She turns back to Romeo quickly.

He smiles at her, small and a little sad. "It was you."

Lucy stares back at him, smile faltering at the seriousness in Romeo's gaze, his expression resolute, jaw locked, blue eyes raging with a soft storm. "Romeo?" she chokes out, a quaver in her voice, and Lucy's throat tightens, tongue thick in her mouth, unable to form anything more than his name. Her arms fall back to her sides, fingers twitching, wanting to reach out to him, but she's grounded in place.

He wets his lips, shuffling before finally meeting her eyes once again. Romeo's voice cracks when he opens his mouth, eyes glossy in the hazy lights from the firestones. "I just wanted you to come home," he admits, voice shaky and thick with emotion. A tear slips from the corner of his eye, barely visible in the low light, but he wipes it away quickly, blinking rapidly.

She doesn't hesitate to step forward and pull him into a tight embrace, Romeo crushing her to him tightly, Lucy hardly able to breathe, but she doesn't care as she clings to him in return, pressing her cheek to his shoulder and burying her nose against the collar of his shirt. "Well, I'm home," she whispers thickly, voice cracking as she feels something wet drip onto her hair. "Romeo, I'm home." She echoes the words against his shirt, squeezing him tightly around his middle, duly noting him nod against her, cheek resting against the side of her head.

"I thought you wouldn't come back," he breathes against her, choking on a sob as he curls around her in the darkness. Shadows from the trees stretch across the ground, threatening to swallow them whole, but Lucy shushes him, cooing as she strokes his hair.

"I know." Lucy cradles him to her, rocking them both slowly. "But I'm home now," she tells him, eyes squeezing shut when he trembles against her, so much younger than he is. "And I'm not going anywhere," Lucy promises.

* * *

 **AN:** **Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.**


	44. Arc Two: Chapter 8

**AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure to leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter Eight**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

The quite of the woods surrounds him slowly, the loud voices from the glade fading into nothingness the farther he slips into the forest. It's a welcome silence, for once in his life. Natsu has known too much silence in his life, the quiet so loud it leaves his ears ringing, a hollowness in his chest. That's how he always felt back in his cell in Pergrande, alone and afraid back when he was much younger. He hated the silence then, perhaps even more than he hated sound. All there was to hear back in those cages where the screams and snarls of his Brothers, the rattling of chains and fists bashing against iron doors. But it was the quiet that scared him. In those moments of silence he could feel the fighting spirit bleed from the veins of his kin, those not broken by the rings finally crumbling into pieces.

Being in Magnolia is something of a welcome change. While Laxus doesn't like him, Natsu would take his snide comments over silence, and Romeo has been more curious than anything else, asking questions and prodding at his past, albeit nervously. He doesn't seem to know what to do about the Berserk sharing his sister's room, confused, but not unkind. Makarov and Lucy have been good company, their chatter near constant, though not in an unpleasant way.

The party was too much though, too loud with too many faces staring at him: watching, waiting for him to do something. He kept to the shadows of the trees, but he could feel eyes on him constantly. Curious eyes. Unfriendly eyes. Too many eyes. It left his skin crawling, an uncomfortable feeling twisting in his stomach, and when Lucy left to speak with her brother he couldn't handle it anymore. He had to go, had to find someplace he simply breathe for a moment, relax and get away from the stares following him.

They were suffocating, like a heavy weight was pressing down on his chest. With Lucy gone he wasn't sure where to stay, and he could see in her eyes that she was worried for him, afraid he was overwhelmed. Natsu doesn't blame her for worrying. Truthfully, he could hardly breathe anymore when he walked away from her, his heart pounding beneath his ribs so loudly it began to drown out the sounds of laughter from the glade.

Natsu was afraid that if he didn't leave he could snap. The laughter and shouting reminded him too much of things he'd like to forget, wishing they would stay buried in the back of his mind, but he never has been able to forget them for long. His time in the Domus Flau Arena were too integral to his childhood, their impact on his life greater than most other things.

When he was younger, Natsu used to wonder what his life would have been if his mother never sold him to the slavers of Bosco. He would have lived in Alvarez, grown up in the Northlands with its great ice sheets and the roaring winters that never seemed to end, each night colder than the last. He would have had a family, names to match the vague faces in his memories. He never would have meet Igneel or Lucy, and for that he doubts he would change things even if he could.

Even if he hadn't been sold as a child, a part of him believes he would have ended up in Pergrande regardless. The King's Berserks came from everywhere, the north, the south, some scattered throughout the Ishgar Peninsula. If he couldn't find them in Pergrande, he would have come for them in the north. Natsu isn't so much a fool to believe he never would have ended up in Fiore or Pergrande.

He supposes he should be thankful he's still alive.

A branch snaps behind him, so quiet he almost doesn't hear it, nothing more than the slight splintering of a twig. Natsu stiffens regardless, hands clenching at his sides as he halts, head tilting towards the sound only the slightest. He sees movement out of the corner of his eyes, a flicker of shadows, and a low warning growl tears from his throat before he can stop it.

The shadow falls still, tall and lanky, and Natsu realizes who it is even before he turns around. Not many people can creep up behind him, but Jellal has done it twice now, and Natsu knows it's only because Jellal let him hear the branch snap. His hearing is better than most, and while he'd like to blame his surprise on the loud voices from the glade, he knows it was his own absent mind distracting him.

He guesses the ranger has been following him for a while now, perhaps since he left the clearing. Natsu hasn't seen the man all night, though he hasn't been looking either. It wouldn't have been hard for Jellal to follow him into the woods, the ranger likely slipped away without anyone else noticing.

Natsu turns around fully, gaze cool as it locks on the ranger, Jellal still and silent in the forest, blending into the trees near perfectly. He seems to become the shadows, moving with the flickering light so well that Natsu can hardly see him, the movement of his cowl near invisible in the night. It would be easy to miss, if he weren't looking for it.

Jellal stares back at him, face hidden by the shadow of his cowl, his expression unreadable. Natsu shifts under the silent man's gaze, uncomfortable with his staring, and Jellal slowly reaches upwards, pushing down his hood to meet Natsu's eyes, his dark hair messy and his eyes hidden by a shadow, revealing nothing. Slowly, he crosses his arms, the leather bracers on his arms present even now, as if he's anticipating a fight.

Natsu flexes his fingers, joints popping as he moves, tensing expectantly. Jellal only stares back at him, unmoving, though a lingering threat hangs in the air between them.

"Jellal," he greets lowly, clearing his throat when the other man blinks back at him, a slight frown pulling at his lips. Natsu swallows, looking him over for any weapons, relaxing slightly when he sees only a thin, silver knife strapped to his belt. It shouldn't comfort Natsu the way it does, but he figures he should be more afraid of what he doesn't see.

He's had few encounters with Rangers that he can remember, most hazy, but he knows better than to underestimate the man. Jellal likely has a dozen weapons on him, all tucked away neatly, hidden from sight. Rangers are tricky, but Natsu knows some of what to expect.

Jellal ducks his head in a silent greeting, a faint smile twitching at his lips, practically a ghost, as if he isn't sure how to make his mouth curve in such a way. It's almost sad to see it, the quirk of his mouth unnatural on Jellal's face. "Natsu," he replies a moment later, taking a step forward into the moonlight, revealing himself.

Natsu relaxes when he sees the friendly look in Jellal's eyes, his expression not as cold as it appeared in the shadows, though not entirely soft either. "What are you doin' out here?" Natsu finds himself asking, curious though he isn't sure why. He hasn't seen Jellal much since they reached Magnolia, and he even assumed the man went back to his outpost near the border.

Most rangers don't spend their time in towns, keeping to the woods and patrolling. Why he's still here, Natsu doesn't know.

Lucy only mentioned the man a few times, so Natsu knows little about him, but he's beginning to grow wary of the man's silence, unsure if he can trust the ranger. Natsu has little love for soldiers to any king. Though Fiore's rangers are separate from the crown, adhering to their own rules and avoiding war for politics as much as they can, according to Igneel, they still belong to a branch of the militia.

He blinks in response to Natsu's question, Jellal pursing his lips before glancing over his shoulder back the way they both came from, the lights barely visible, the sounds of singing muffled by the trees. "Same as you, I suppose," Jellal murmurs, removing his knife from his belt. Natsu tenses, but Jellal only twirls the blade between his fingers slowly, still frowning off into the distance, appearing not to notice what his hands are doing. "It's too loud in the glade," he continues, turning back to Natsu slowly, expression revealing nothing.

"Yeah," Natsu mumbles back in agreement, sucking on his teeth as he stares between two trees, barely able to make out the glowing lights in the distance, the hazy red winking back at him almost teasingly. He wets his lips and turns away, shuffling when Jellal suddenly stills, ceasing the twisting of his knife.

Jellal doesn't look at him, only continues to stare into the night, his head cocked to the side in thought. His expression slips into something pensive for only a moment before going blank. Natsu's eyes narrow, but he looks away. A trick of the light, he guesses.

"Not fond of crowds?" Jellal blinks at him, but Natsu isn't sure if it's a question or not, Jellal's expression blank, his lips curved into a small frown, but nothing more. He stares at Natsu, curious, but says nothing else, only waits and begins to twist his knife between his fingers once again. The blade glints in the moonlight, and Natsu wets his lips, mouth going dry.

He swallows, ripping his eyes away from Jellal and settling his gaze on the sky, peering up at the moon through the gnarled tree branches. His lips twitch at the corners, a sardonic grin stretching across his face, Natsu unable to contain the bitterness seeping through his skin. "Something like that," he spits back, a rumbling chuckle spilling from his mouth.

Jellal blinks at him slowly, frown deepening as something shadowy crosses his eyes. "Because of the rings?" he asks suddenly, shoving his knife back into its holster. Natsu flinches at the question, head snapping up as he whirls on Jellal, Natsu snarls at him, lips curling back over his teeth before he can stop himself. A low, warning sound rumbles in his throat, and Jellal takes a step back, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

Natsu's hands curl into tight fists at his sides, but he manages to still himself, his jaw clenching shut and his breaths coming in rapidly through his nose. "How do you—" Natsu cuts off, shaking his head as an itch makes its way down his back, his fingers twitching.

"Forgive me," Jellal says hurriedly, ducking his head apologetically, his gaze sliding to the ground. His shaggy hair falls into his eyes, hiding them from Natsu's sight, and when he glances up, there's something familiar there. The cool front Jellal put on slowly peels away, revealing something kinder. "I only assumed…" he trails off, shaking his head quickly, and sighs, back straightening as he rights himself. "You mentioned coming back to Fiore once, to Lucy." It's a weak explanation, and Natsu narrows his eyes, but deflates when he sees nothing but honestly in the other man's gaze.

Natsu regards him coldly for several moments, his lips pressed into a thin line, the edges curved downward. He stares at Jellal silently, practically daring him to say something else, but he never does. Jellal doesn't rise to the challenge, something unfamiliar to him. Natsu is used to the fighting, the barbed words that make others go ballistic.

But Jellal doesn't make a sound. He doesn't twitch or shift or reach for his knife, only stares back at Natsu, his dark eyes vacant in the night.

He softens slowly, Jellal's demeanor blank, but non-threatening. Natsu exhales slowly through his nose, shoulders relaxing as he glances up at the stars, eyes slipping from Jellal's easily. "I did," he mumbles. Lucy already knew, of course, but it was something he found himself repeating from time to time, the reality of the situation creeping up upon him slowly.

"It must be strange," Jellal muses, more to himself than to Natsu, "coming back." His gaze flicks from Natsu up to the stars, his dark eyes blinking slowly, and his eyes narrowed in thought. He says nothing else, leaving a thick blanket of silence to fall over them, stifling, though not unbearable.

Natsu snorts in response, a bitter smile pulling at his lips. He raises a brow, head lolling to the side so he can see Jellal, and his lips curve back over his teeth in something more reminiscent of a snarl. Jellal shifts uncomfortably beneath Natsu's gaze, lowering his eyes, and he takes some satisfaction from rattling the ranger. "Something like that," he says a moment later, all fangs and sharp eyes. "It's been years since…" Natsu trails off, shaking his head with a sigh.

"Since the Red Night?" Jellal finishes for him, so soft Natsu almost misses it. His smile slips when the words register, but Jellal is far more curious than he is accusing, and that dampens his temper only the slightest.

Something white hot courses through his veins, the irrational anger of his people, their fighting spirit, rising in his bones and calling him to battle. He shoves it back down, rolling his shoulders and slowly unclenching his fists. "What do you know of the Red Night," is all he says, less a question than a angered hiss, and when Natsu turns the full weight of his gaze on Jellal, the man takes a small step back.

Jellal shrugs a shoulder, lips pressing into a tight, thin line. He chews the inside of his cheek for a moment, wetting his lips as he raises a hand to the back of his head. His fingers drag through his messy hair, brushing his bangs away from his eyes as he considers Natsu's words. "Only what the stories told."

Natsu snorts, grin wry. "And what stories were those?" He's heard several about that night, that Fiore was forced to sell them, that raiders came from the north to free them, but they were captured by Pergrande instead. But he knows the truth. He'll never forget how Pergrande soldiers lined them up and Domus Centari stalked between them, like sheep led to the slaughter.

He knows the truth, but sometimes he wishes the stories held some truth to them. Anything would have been better than what truly happened that night.

Jellal chews his lip as he thinks, mulling over the right words to say. He tilts his head to the side, his face shadowed by the trees and his hair, blocking him from sight. Natsu turns away, glaring up at the moon and stars.

"Pergrande stole you all away," Jellal replies suddenly.

It startles him into a laugh, bitter and humorless. It thunders through the quiet night, Jellal jolting in shock at the gruff sound. Natsu doesn't mean to laugh. There's nothing funny about Jellal's words, but he can't keep the grin off his face. "Yeah." That's all they were to Fiore, to Pergrande: objects. Things to be stolen. They were never people.

The thought leaves something bitter on his tongue, but it isn't something Natsu never knew before. The Berserks mattered little to the people of Fiore and Pergrande. They were soldiers. Monsters. Sources of entertainment. But never people. Never human.

Natsu glances down at his fingers, wondering what made them so different from everyone else, what possessed the Ishgar peninsula to turn them into the monsters lurking in children's dreams. It isn't something he enjoys thinking about, unsure he'd ever have an answer.

"How old were you?" Jellal turns back to him, hesitant at first, until he sees the looseness in Natsu's shoulders, his eyes more tired than angry. His bravery comes back, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes, something stony there that Natsu doesn't recognize, resolute. He straightens his spine, looking less like a ranger and more like a proper soldier, a certain line to his shoulders deserving of respect.

Natsu turns away again. "Ten," he guesses, shrugging one shoulder. "Maybe. I don't remember much about living in Fiore." Those few months were a blur to him, his birthday a long forgotten date. He was too young when he left his family to remember much of anything besides his name.

Jellal nods, his lips twisting into a frown. "It was hard, when I first came here, as well," he tells Natsu, who glances at him absently. "It was very different from my home."

Natsu nods, understanding the feeling. "And where was that?" he asks Jellal, shifting to lean back against a tree trunk. The rough bark scrapes at his skin, but Natsu ignores the prickling feeling, more interested in staring up at the sky. The stars wink back at him, and he searches out one of the constellations Igneel used to show him around this time of year.

He traces the shape of Nhyl've, the sand serpent, with his eyes. It isn't a legend that comes from his own culture, rather, it hails from somewhere further south, in the small desert of Midian. He knows the legend vaguely, recalling only parts of what Igneel told him.

Nhyl've was a trickster spirit, a toxic serpent that hid beneath the sand and bit travelers, exchanging riddles for their lives and causing chaos in its wake. The serpent attacked a goddess, though he can't recall the name, and the God Fox Zaltain come for Nhyl've when she couldn't solve the riddle. Zaltain grabbed the serpent by his tail, immune to his venom, and flung him into the sky, where he became a part of the stars.

Igneel used to tell him stories about the stars every night to help him sleep, and sometimes the other Berserks would join him, taking over the tales whenever Igneel would forget pieces of the story. He was never the best with words and stories, always forgetting things, names, places, morals. Natsu loved him for that.

"Minstrel," Jellal tells him, a small smile on his lips, as if he's remembering something from a better time. He sighs, shaking his head slowly, and glances up at the sky much like Natsu, also watching the stars. "My mother brought me here when I was younger," he explains, a faint smile making the birthmark around his eye crinkle around the edges. "She was a dancer, part of the Minstrel troupe, and she was the best I've ever seen." He glances at Natsu briefly. "Left me in Makarov's care before returning home."

Natsu blinks at him in surprise, raising a brow at the new information. "She left you here?" Natsu's expression twists into one of understanding, knowing the feeling of being abandoned by his family. It's never an easy thing to recover from, knowing that your family didn't love you enough to keep you. It's a bitter feeling, one Natsu doesn't like to dwell upon.

Jellal hesitates, but shakes his head after a moment. "I chose to stay," he says simply, shrugging half-heartedly, unconcerned with the conversation. Natsu blinks at him, head cocking to one side slightly. Jellal doesn't look at him, fingers going back to the knife on his belt and spinning it slightly, playing with the hilt.

Natsu mulls over Jellal's words carefully, wondering why he stayed, but not daring to ask. He knows better than to pry into peoples' pasts. Some things are best left locked away. He doesn't know Jellal, and Jellal knows little about him in return.

"You also chose to become a ranger," Natsu mumbles suddenly, unable to stop the words from tumbling from his mouth.

It's a curious thing, becoming a ranger. Natsu thinks most men would choose to be soldiers, rather than rangers. He's heard filthy things about them, mostly lies, but he knows most have little love for the rangers. They're too secretive, too closed off from the rest of the kingdoms, hidden away in the shadows and spying. They protect the borders, of course, but there's something off about them.

Natsu has known very few rangers in his life, Pergrande having few of them. The Centari line used them mostly as assassins back in the early years, according to some of the older Berserks in the capital, but after the king began contracting the Berserks, he had no reason for assassins.

Besides, the old king was more paranoid than most. He kept his Berserks in chains because he was afraid they'd turn on him, and he thought the same of his royal assassins, fearing his own death by their hands, thinking they were conspiring against him. He ordered his Berserks to slaughter them, long before Natsu was taken to Pergrande. He's only heard stories about it, no one able to remember much.

The assassins were torn to pieces and left to rot on the hottest day of summer, the smell carrying for miles and miles, decaying flesh cooking in the hot sun.

Domus Centari is a man with an iron fist. He always gets what he wants.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Jellal tears his gaze from the sky to peer at Natsu, something cold and challenging in his eyes, far different from the fiery anger of the Berserks. Natsu is taken aback by the frostiness of Jellal's gaze, his expression more calculating than angry.

"No," Natsu responds quickly, jerking his head back and forth. He sucks on his teeth, rolling his shoulders, and meets Jellal's stony gaze with his own. "Most men chose glory over the shadows," is his reasoning, his shoulder bouncing with a shrug. It's sound reasonable, to him at least. Rangers are typically petty thieves and men who never want to be remembered.

Jellal sighs, head bobbing in agreement. "Most," he echoes, breath foggy in the night air, "not all." They lapse into a heavy silence, less uncomfortable than the one before, but Natsu shifts restlessly, displeased with staying in one place for so long. He doesn't like being cooped up like this, feeling trapped. He's been kept in cages and boxes nearly his entire life. He hates standing still.

"Why didn't you?" Natsu asks carelessly. Jellal stiffens in the corner of his eyes, his breath catching before he can hide it, and Natsu turns to face him directly, confused by the sharpness of his gaze, like ice. Jellal's lips press into a tight line, his gloved hands clench, and the birthmark around his eye seems to flicker silver in the darkness.

Silence sweeps around them, a dark cloud.

He's quiet for a long moment, and Jellal turns back to the moon quietly, shifting his weight from side to side and taking a slow, heavy breath, his eyes squeezing shut. He wets his lips, not looking at Natsu when he responds.

"Glory," Jellal murmurs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Power." He clears his throat, turning to Natsu with a blank gaze, eyes hard and cold. His lips curve back in a sneer, but it's gone when Natsu blinks. "They shouldn't be given to those who seek them. Not for the wrong reasons."

Natsu stares at him for a long moment, mulling over Jellal's words, before nodding and turning away once more. His fingers find the worn red fabric at his hips, the garnet a stark reminder of where he came from, and he twists it between his digits, playing with a loose thread. They stand in silence for a long moment, Natsu considering Jellal's words, the other man as quiet as ever.

He senses Jellal leave rather hears him, the ranger slinking back into the shadows without a word. The air around him suddenly feels colder with the man's departure, his words lingering in the air.

Igneel used to tell him glory is a two-headed viper with one head staring back at its master. Those who seek glory always find themselves bitten.

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 **AN:** **Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.**


	45. Arc Two: Chapter 9

**AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure to leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter Nine**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

Lucy ducks out of the way of a strike that nearly takes her head clean off, Jellal not holding back as he swipes at her, a knife clutched in each fist. His deft fingers spin the blades, expression blank, save for the small smirk pulling at his lips. She stumbles backwards, nearly tripping, but he doesn't relent, coming after her a second time. She parries, cursing under her breath, and heaves for air, legs unsteady beneath her. Her knee slips under the pressure, but she forces herself to remain standing, unwilling to give in so easily.

She hadn't noticed before how shaky she still is, near four weeks have passed since she and Natsu left Narja, nearly two since Romeo's birthday, but she's still plagued with exhaustion. Her limbs feel heavier than usual, her thoughts scattered, and the constant headache that seemed to pulse with the poison in her arm has come back. It's manageable, nothing but a dull ache, but it's enough to leave her unfocused. She hadn't realized how absentminded she'd become in the last few months, how unfocused she's been since coming home.

Jellal takes the opportunity to sweep her legs out from underneath her. Lucy topples to the ground with a shriek, the breath knocked from her lungs as she's slammed against the ground. Wheezing, Lucy rolls away from another strike, Jellal aiming for her stomach. His foot grazes her hip as she twists, shoving herself back to her feet and putting distance between them. Lucy wets her lips, expression daring him to come again.

He blinks at her, slow and calculating, something in his expression hesitant for only a moment, questioning. Lucy's gaze doesn't waver, her grip tightening around the hilt of her knife, the worn leather smooth against her palm. Her eyes narrow, lips pulling back over her teeth, and Jellal sighs, rolling his shoulder so that it cracks. It pulls a wince from him, and in his training shirt Lucy can already see the faint bruise forming on his shoulder from where she kicked him. She guesses it had to hurt more than he was letting on.

She's always been stronger than she looked, and the boys always seem to forget that during training.

Lucy holds herself back from throwing herself at him, her bones thrumming, begging for her to charge at him and resume the fight, but she holds herself back. Jellal is nothing if not methodical, calculating and shrewd, and she knows better than to run at him blindly. she's lost to Jellal more times than she'd care to admit because of her impatience.

He watches her, hair shadowing his eyes, and presses his lips into a tight line when she draws another blade. Quick as she can, Lucy whirls on Jellal, launching a blade towards his face. He ducks out of the way, as expected, but Lucy is ready. She lunges for him when he sidesteps her blade, eyes leaving her for only a fraction of a second to follow the rush of steel whipping by his head.

Lucy tackles him around the waist, locking her calf around the back of his knee and yanking him forward. Jellal grunts as his weight is shifted suddenly, throwing him off balance. He stumbles into her, Lucy using her weight to knock him down. Jellal catches himself before he can fall, lashing out at her with an elbow, but Lucy dances away from the strike before it can hit her.

She cuffs him quickly as she backs off, striking at his nose and hiding a self-satisfied smile when she makes contact.

Jellal spits blood onto the grass, unamused as he stares back at Lucy. His eyes narrow, a faint bruise developing near his nose. No blood comes from the spot she hit him, and Lucy guesses he merely bit his tongue when she struck him, surprised by the hit. She never used to be one for using her fists, preferring her knives to split knuckles and bloody hands, but over the last few months she's begun to learn that doesn't always work.

She won't be caught unaware like that again.

Lucy swipes at Jellal with her knife, but this time he's prepared, ducking away from her strike easily and sweeping her feet out from beneath her a second time. She shifts her weight with the kick, keeping herself upright, and moves to slip around him. Jellal catches her before she can slither around him. He grabs her bad shoulder at the same time he kicks her in the stomach, and the crackling sound that comes from her arm makes her stomach twist.

She drops to the ground, hissing as she grabs at her shoulder. Relief washes over her when she feels nothing wrong, her shoulder still in place, though slightly stiffer than before. Lucy glares up at Jellal, daring him to strike at her again, but he only watches her, backing away several feet to eye her critically.

He knows better than to pick a close combat fight with her. Jellal may be stronger and keener with a blade, but she's faster. He learned that ages ago, unable to catch her on her best days, Lucy more slippery than the giant weasels that live in the forests of Fiore.

Jellal wets his lips, licking away the blood on his mouth, nose wrinkling. He spits into the grass, twirling a knife between his fingers as he glances down at her, the faintest hint of concern clouding his eyes. "Are you sure you should be doing this?" he asks softly, staring at her arm for a long moment before his eyes snap back to hers. She scoffs in response, forcing herself back to her feet, but his lips press into a tight line. "Lucy." The warning in his tone makes her pause, but he relaxes when she meets his eyes. "If you get hurt, your family will kill me." Jellal's lips curl into a frown, and his grip tightens on the knife, his jaw clenching. "And your Berserk," he grumbles.

"He has a name," Lucy snaps back, eyes narrowing dangerously. Jellal simply shrugs, unconcerned, and Lucy rolls her eyes as she holds out her knife defensively, expression shred as she stares at him. Her head cocks to the side slightly, Lucy eyeing him critically. "How long are you planning to stick around this time?" she asks, something bitter creeping into her words.

She doesn't mean to get angry with him, but he's been doing the same thing for years. He never sticks around for more time than necessary, only long enough for her to settle back into their easy friendship before he disappears on them again. She understands why it has to be like that, but she's sick of waking up one morning to find him gone without a goodbye. Jellal has always been something of a drifter, quiet and a loner more than anything, but he's practically family. He has a _home_ with them.

Jellal purses his lips, gaze flicking towards the tree line for a moment, barely taking his eyes off her. He swallows thickly, shrugging, and Lucy sighs, already knowing he's planning on leaving again soon. "Until the festival," he tells her, brow furrowed, Jellal thinking hard about something.

Lucy does a poor job at masking her surprise. Jellal rarely stays for Magnolia's harvest festival. He doesn't like the crowds or the noise, the dancing. He was never like his mother in that regard. Lucy hardly remembers the woman, only knows that she was full of joy, practically bursting with it. Jellal has her smile, though he doesn't wear it much. "Why, you have something special planned?" Lucy asks, only half joking. Jellal is usually long gone by the time of the festival, either back to his outpost or traveling somewhere far off, only to appear again several months down the line. "Someone you need to see?"

It's a joke and they both know it, she can tell by the narrowing of his brows, a humorous glint in his eyes. Jellal has never been good at talking with women, or men for that matter. Pretty girls make him stutter and drop things. She once watched him nearly stab himself in the foot after seeing Mirajane Strauss walk by one afternoon. Mira smiled at Jellal, only a tiny little thing, and the knife in his hand slipped right from his fingers, burying itself in the dirt next to his boot.

It was both the funniest and most terrifying thing she's ever seen, even scarier than her nightmares and the monsters she's seen. There's something horrifying in the way a smile can disarm men, reduce them to shadows of themselves.

Jellal blinks at her, and then his lips begin to curve into a smirk, a playful glint in his eyes. Her instructor disappears in that moment, replaced by the friend, near brother, she's known for the better part of her life. "That would be a secret," he tells her, unable to cover his grin it's so large.

He winks at her suddenly, and Lucy can't stop herself from snorting.

"You're no fun, Jellal." She sends him a teasing smile, huffing at his ridiculousness. He's gotten good at avoiding questions, especially with wry humor and jokes that may not actually be jokes. She can never tell how serious he's being. A secret for Jellal could be a joke or it could be military business, Lucy wouldn't know the difference, Jellal revealing nothing. She doesn't ask, however.

Lucy passed on an opportunity to join the Rangers some time ago, and she hasn't regretted her decision once. Jellal can say what he wants in their defense, but she knows they aren't as impartial to the political war as they claim to be. Jellal is evidence enough of that.

He wouldn't have joined them without a reason.

Lucy shakes her head, banishing the thoughts from her mind for the time being, deciding they aren't worth thinking about right now. She glances back at Jellal, wanting to continue their spar, but when she looks at where he was standing, he isn't there.

She twists to the right, throwing up her blade just in time to stop Jellal's knife from cutting across her cheek, the flat of his blade sure to bruise. Jellal always goes right, except for when he doesn't, and Lucy has trained with him enough to know when he's feigning. Her blade slips slightly with the force of him pushing down on her, but Lucy only grits her teeth and ducks out of the way, whirling to the side and sending him stumbling forward a step.

A second blade rushing towards her skull stops her from going far. She catches that one as well, but Jellal clucks his tongue, scrutinizing her. "Your technique has gotten sloppy, Lucy," he chastises, a disappointed glint in his eyes. He wets his lips, rolling his shoulders before rushing at her a second time.

Lucy sidesteps, parrying and twisting to lash out at Jellal's knee with a devastating kick which he only barely manages to avoid. "Knives didn't exactly work on Berserks," she snaps back at him, glaring. He's always been hyper critical of knife-wielders, though she doesn't know if it comes from passion for the craft or his own vanity. "Besides," she grunts, slipping under his arm and tripping him, "I didn't have a lot of time to practice while on the run."

"That's no excuse," he snaps back.

Lucy doesn't have a chance to respond before she's suddenly grabbed around the waist and thrown onto the ground, the breath slammed from her lungs as he head cracks against the dirt. She bites back a hiss, eyes squeezing shut. An aching begins in the back of her head, spreading slowly as her ears begin to ring. It takes her a moment to regain her senses, Lucy blinking up at Jellal, who stares down at her, concerned.

For a moment, she thinks about what he said. Her technique isn't sloppy, she knows, though she is a tad out of practice with her knives, relying more on archery for some weeks now. No, her skills were never an issue, even if she wasn't at her best this last fight.

Something's been off with Jellal. She hadn't noticed it at first, too concerned with returning home and dealing with her family and Natsu, but there's just something not quite right about how he's been acting. Even during the worst of their training sessions, Jellal never would have tried to hurt her arm like he did. He's never been one for playing dirty, especially with serious injuries.

Lucy wets her lips, chest heaving as she gasps for air, Jellal casting a shadow over her as he leans into the sunlight, peering down at her, something heavy in his gaze that she doesn't recognize. "You did teach me, Jellal," she grumbles back at him, hissing when she props herself up on her elbows, a dull ache traveling from her shoulder to her wrist on her left arm. "The day I best you is the day you lose both your arms," Lucy jokes, sending him a wry smile.

Jellal's lips twitch only the slightest, an amused twinkle flashing in his eyes. "Perhaps," he replies simply, grin widening. He reaches down for her hand, intent to help her back to her feet, and he misses the wicked glint in her eyes, Lucy smirk too large as her fingers curl around his wrist. Jellal inhales sharply, eyes widening as he realizes what she means to do, but he's too slow. She yanks him down sharply, Jellal grunting when he lands in the dirt beside her. Lucy throws her head back in a strained laugh, unable to place the wrongness in his expression, his smile too tight.

After a moment, Lucy smothers her laughter, a familiar soreness creeping into her core. She used to feel like this regularly, matches with Laxus and Jellal leaving her aching down to her bones. Despite the good nature of their fights, they'd never been overly delicate with each other. Lucy's seen Jellal and Laxus go at each other like beasts before, spraying blood and breaking bones. It was terrifying to watch, Jellal more shadow than man and Laxus crackling with lightning, a familiar sense of unease creeping along her spine.

Those fights were never pretty. Most days it made Lucy sick to watch them tear each other apart, less like old friends and more like monsters.

Lucy sits up slowly, stretching out her sore muscles, and eventually Jellal rights himself as well, a lazy look in his eyes as he stares out at the trees, watching the flickering shadows with interest. "It's good to have you back," he murmurs some time later, sparing her a glance as he stands, swiping his fallen knife off the ground and pulling a cloth from his belt.

He doesn't look at her as he begins to clean it.

"It's good to be back," Lucy tells him, sighing heavily as she glances down at the scars on her shoulder, raising a hand to trace them with a delicate finger. "It seems like I was gone forever." Jellal meets her gaze for a moment, but looks away quickly, puzzling her. "I'm surprised you've been allowed to stay for so long." She can't keep the hint of suspicion from her voice. Jellal rarely stays longer than a few days at a time. She's been willing to ignore it, with Romeo's birthday, but Jellal wouldn't stay for just any reason.

When he doesn't respond after several heartbeats, Lucy's eyes narrow, her fingers curling around the hilt of the rose quarts knife she's had for ages. Her finger traces along the flat of the stone knife, feeling for a rough edge where the blade was shattered, but she finds none, the blade smooth, not a ragged edge to be found. She's barely let the blade leave her sight since Natsu gave it back to her, something about the knife reassuring.

Jellal catches her eye for only a second before ripping his gaze from hers. "The corps are lenient," he murmurs, low and gruff.

It's a lie if she's ever heard one. Part of the reason Lucy rejected joining the Rangers was how strict the rules were. They were by no means as rigid as the royal army, but they still had a severe system to follow.

Lucy frowns, leaning forward and propping her elbows against her knees, lips pressed into a thin line. "I thought you said there've been skirmishes at the border recently," she says lightly, unable to keep the slight edge from her voice. She's never known the corps to simply allow their rangers to leave their posts for so long, especially in such turbulent times. Escorting them home is different from spending weeks with them.

The rag nearly slips from his fingers, but Jellal manages to catch it before it can fall to the ground. His grip grows tighter on the thin cloth, his knuckles turning white from the force. His movements grow rough as he continues to clean, jaw clenched and shoulders stiff. "I was allotted some time off," he replies, clipped.

"Rangers aren't just allowed to leave their posts, Jellal," Lucy argues. Despite never formally joining the corps, she spent some time with them last summer, tentative to throw herself into the silent army. The division she spent time with was stationed close to Magnolia at the time, and Lucy learned a great deal about the secretive bunch.

He doesn't respond for a long moment, mulling over his words and avoiding her gaze. Instead of responding, he changes the subject. "You know, the offer still stands," he grumbles, fingers twitching at his sides.

She knows what he means without having to ask, and her eyes narrow in annoyance, anger bubbling in her chest. "Jellal, I've already given you my answer," she snaps back at him, teeth grinding together as she hisses between clenched teeth, "twice." She sends him a nasty look, but his expression doesn't change. "I have no interest in joining the Corps," she reminds him.

Jellal watches as she stands, sliding the knife back into the holster at her hip. His gaze flicks between her eyes and the knife, his brows narrowed in thought. "You told me you'd think about it," he tells her.

He isn't wrong. She did say that once, back when he first asked her, before she spent the summer training with them. The second time he asked was the day she went home, leaving the Corps without a second glance and promising herself never to join them. She could never just leave her family like that. And she told Jellal as much, leaving without a goodbye.

It left them on bad terms for some time, and Jellal began coming around less and less until she finally cornered him during the winter Solstice, when he came to Magnolia to celebrate. He hadn't asked her again after that, respecting her decision, but she could always see the silent question in his eyes.

"I'm not joining," she tells him firmly, sending him a venomous look before twisting on her heel and stalking away. Jellal catches her before she can go far, fingers curling loosely around her wrist and pulling her to a stop. Lucy bristles at his touch, and Jellal releases her immediately, sighing.

He cleans his throat, wetting his lips and shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "We could use you, Lucy." She snorts in response, smile stiff and mocking as she locks eyes with him, though she softens slightly when she sees the desperation in his gaze, another warning that there's something he isn't telling her.

"I can't just leave, Jellal," Lucy spits, echoing her words from so long ago. Something in her voice breaks as she thinks about leaving again so soon "I just came home," she finishes, barely a whisper, her voice carried away with her stirring magic. She can't leave now, not when her relationship with Laxus is so fragile and she's only just begun to feel at home again. Except that isn't her only reason and they both know it. She learned _too_ many secrets working with the Rangers.

Jellal stares at her, expression blank, and Lucy glares back, daring him to speak, but Jellal only blinks at her, slow and purposeful, proof that he's heard her. "You could give it time," he suggests, but it's weak, the words holding no life in them, almost practiced in a way that makes her wonder how long he's considered asking her this.

"And what about, Natsu?" she asks him, practically hissing the words. "I can't just leave him here. Not with how Fiore has been in recent years." While she doubts her family would turn him over to the Royal Guards, she doesn't dare leave him here without her.

Jellal sighs, but nods regardless, hearing her arguments. "I know," he says, sounding almost relieved with her answers. His shoulders sag for only a moment before tensing again.

"Then why did you ask me?" Lucy's brows narrow curiously, but she doesn't ask anything further. Jellal won't tell her anything he doesn't want to, always tight-lipped. He won't lie to her, but he's willing to worm his way around the truth if he's set on not telling her. He's done it before, when they were younger. A lie by omission, so to say. Lucy hates it, but there's not much she can do about it.

He does what she expects of him, blinks and turns away, her magic tussling his hair as he takes a step away, turning to glance at her over his shoulder, almost like an after thought. She sneers back at him, something poisonous on her tongue, but Jellal only grins at her, expression strained though not nearly as fake as it seemed earlier.

"You would have made a fine ranger, Lucy," he tells her, giving a brief nod before rolling his shoulders and taking a step away from her. He gathers his things from the ground, settling his knives back into their sheathes and slinging his bow over his shoulder, silent as a ghost. Lucy can only stare, perplexed with the brief conversation, but Jellal pauses a dozen steps from her.

Lucy crosses her arms, fingers drumming against her skin in a rhythmic pattern as she waits for him to speak. Jellal's shoulders go stiff, and even from several feet away Lucy can see the way his jaw clenches, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

"You know my captain." It isn't a question and they both know it.

Lucy snorts, shifting her weight to her left leg, unimpressed. "Of course I know Vigali," she practically sneers back at him. "He's the one who first tried to recruit me in the first place." Truthfully, Lucy harbors no ill feelings towards the man. Vigali was originally the leader of a thieves' guild from Minstrel, being recruited as a ranger when he first came to Fiore. Rumor has it, Marrin Haskeel saw something he liked in the thief.

Vigali was always kind to her, even after she opted not to join.

But Jellal shakes his head, turning half way until he can face her more directly, still half turned towards the forest. "Vigali retired," he tells her simply, shrugging, though she can see the subtle displeasure in his eyes. "Left for Port Calter some time ago."

Lucy doesn't respond, her expression saying enough. A rush of shock trickles down her spine, like cold water over her head. Vigali was by no means a young man anymore, but he was the best Ranger she ever saw, better with a bow than most and twice as skilled with a blade. She once saw him knock Jellal on his back in less than a second during a fight, despite the Ranger Captain's old age.

The news is unexpected, Vigali seemed to love his job, and more than that he was good at it, though he wasn't half as serious as the Corps tried to make him.

"When you were gone," Jellal says suddenly, startling Lucy out f her thoughts. She blinks back at him, Jellal watching her from the corner of his eye. "He said it was time for him to settle down." Something about the way he says it makes Lucy stiffen. She'd never known Vigali to be one for settling down. He always seemed the type to fight until he couldn't possibly do so anymore.

Snorting, Lucy runs her fingers along the scar on her upper arm absentmindedly. "That's surprising," she says softly, pursing her lips. "I never thought he would leave his post." Her fingers drum against her skin, Lucy shivering as a gust of wind blows around them.

She doesn't ask who took Vigali's position. She never much cared for the rankings of the rangers, leaving them to their own devises. She would half expect the new head of the southern branch to be Jellal himself, though she doubts he would be allowed to stay here if he was.

"Dorian Crane," Jellal tells her suddenly. The familiar name makes Lucy pause, her fingers half-curled around the hilt of her knife, the demand for another round stopping short on her tongue. Her head snaps around, Jellal's lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze blank as his eyes lock with hers, betraying nothing.

She wets her lips. "The son of the King's Hand."

Jellal nods. "He joined around the same time as me. The corps kept it quiet." His fingers twitch, the only movement Lucy can catch. He says nothing else, but an uneasy feeling pools in her gut at the realization. The rangers have always been off to themselves, Vigali never liked the royals, hated their politics.

"What business does a royal have joining the rangers?" Lucy muses, more to herself than anything else. She drops her knife back to her side, unsure what to do with her hands. She swallows thickly, shifting her weight from one foot to the next.

Jellal grins at her faintly, Lucy catching only the faintest shadow of a bitter smile before he turns his back to her. "You want to start a war," he tells her. "You want to _prevent_ a war. Get in the Royal Family's good graces."

* * *

 **AN:** **Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.**


	46. Arc Two: Chapter 10

**AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure to leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter Ten**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

His eyes follow Lucy as she flits around Makarov's shop, muttering to herself as she gathers cases of vials and other magicked objects and places them into a pair of baskets to bring into town. She shoves her hair back away from her face, strands falling out of the sloppy bun she tied it into earlier in the morning. She stops briefly to smile at him when he catches her eye, but says nothing, engrossed in her work. Her lips move, forming silent words as she goes through their stock, counting carefully.

A large cat Natsu hadn't noticed before sits between the baskets, blue eyes large and piercing, seeming to look right through him. It stares, silent and still save for the agitated twitching of its tail. It seems more curious than anything, though it hissed and swiped at him with one paw when Natsu first tried to pet it. Lucy laughed then, explaining that the cat, oddly named Happy, isn't fond of strangers, but that he would come around eventually.

Natsu is more confused than hurt by the animal's rejection. Besides the deer in the forest, not many animals have taken kindly to him, or any other Berserk, for that matter. Igneel used to say that the animals know what they were breed for, that they could smell the lingering of blood on their skin and the violence in their bones. Some animals seem to look passed it, after a time, but not all.

He can't fault them for that.

The cat watches him, gaze never leaving his, even when Lucy rubs him behind the ears and coos his name softly. A soft, happy trill leaves the animal, and he squints, pleased, though his gaze never once leaves Natsu.

There's something peculiar about the animal that Natsu can't place, something not quite right. The cat is large for one, reaching halfway up Lucy's thigh at his shoulders, much too tall for a normal housecat. His coat is near blue, almost silver in the moonlight, an unfamiliar shade. The eyes are what unnerve him the most. There's something entirely too human in his gaze, something youthful but also wise beyond years. Timeless. Ancient.

A ring of gold surrounds the blue in his eyes, and Natsu's mouth goes dry the longer the creature stares at him, looking right through him, peeling back the walls he's placed around himself.

"Happy!" Lucy chirps suddenly, potion bottles clacking together as she places them in the nearest basket. The cat snaps to attention, glancing at her with owlish eyes, another trill leaving the beast. His tail flicks again, friendly this time, and Lucy reaches out to pet him. Happy purrs at her touch, the low rumbles seeming to shake the room, a row of empty vials rattling together on Makarov's desk. One bottle threatens to fall, wobbling precariously, but Lucy catches it before it can slip to the ground and shatter.

The cat looks near smug at the glass in her hands, self-satisfaction flickering in his blue gaze.

Lucy continues, not pausing in her work as she places the bottle back on the table, humming to herself as she continues to fill the baskets. Natsu watches her for a long moment, gaze flickering between her and the cat, unable to tear his eyes away from the strange creature. Some minutes pass before Lucy suddenly stops humming, and Natsu glances up to find her already staring at him, an amused smile on her lips as she watches him watch the cat.

"You want to know what he is, don't you?" Lucy muses, grinning though there's something heavy in her gaze, almost leery. She scratches Happy behind his ears, sighing when the cat rumbles back to her happily. He stands and stretches, sharp nails scraping against the wood lightly, and then leans into Lucy, rubbing his head against her cheek. His face is level with hers as he stands on the desk, and Natsu is again stunned by the tremendous size of the animal.

Lucy coaxes her magic to ruffle the cats fur, and he swipes at her, though Lucy only snickers when his paw pats at her arm harmlessly.

Natsu drinks in her amused words carefully, noting her phrasing curiously. Slowly, Natsu lets his gaze slide back to the cat, finding the creature already looking at him. "He isn't normal, is he?" Natsu asks lowly, eyes narrowing at the gray cat.

"No," Lucy says, sighing as she runs her fingers along the cats spine, Happy arching into her touch. "Happy is a Kalfee. An Encan Fae cat." The name is unfamiliar to him, but not unsurprising. Fae creatures seem to attract each other, and he already guessed there was something odd about the animal.

He wets his lips. "Is he magic?"

Lucy pauses in her work, placing a final bottle into the basket before turning to face him more directly, fingertips still absently stroking the cat. "He's… something," Lucy tells him, trailing off slightly. "No one is quite sure what they are." Happy trills and paws at Lucy when she stops petting him. "Rumor has it they can live to be over one hundred. Others say they never truly die." She smiles wryly, as if it's some kind of poor joke, but he doesn't ask. "Happy is only five." She shrugs. "Gramps figures he'll grow much larger than this, perhaps even taller than me." Natsu stiffens in shock, but Lucy only smiles at him, gaze reassuring. "Don't worry about him. He won't hurt you, he's just wary."

"Because I'm a Berserk?" Natsu asks, grinning faintly, though the joke is bitter on his tongue.

Lucy sends him a sharp look in return, unamused by his self-deprecation. "Because you're a stranger," she corrects him, eyes narrowing a tick. She holds his gaze until he nods, Natsu relaxing slightly at her reassurance, and Lucy turns back to her baskets, lifting them with ease. "Are you sure you'll be okay while I'm gone?"

Natsu snorts, crossing his arms. "Of course I will."

Her grip on the baskets loosens, a troubled expression on her face, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed just a tick. Lucy's gaze is thick with something he doesn't like, not pity, but something close, something that makes his tongue feel thick and dry. Happy trills softly to gain her attention, batting at her shoulder when she doesn't look at him. Seconds pass, the shop quiet. Lucy doesn't speak, but her eyes say she doesn't believe him.

Unsurprising, given he hardly believes himself at times.

She watches his expression closely for any hint of a lie, and Natsu smiles down at her fondly as he steps closer to her, their chests brushing faintly. His hands come up to cup her face, and Lucy sighs as she leans into his touch, eyes slipping shut briefly. Her eyelashes are dark against her skin, and they flutter when her gaze locks with his. "Lucy, I'll be fine," he promises, leaning down until his nose bumps against hers.

Sighing, Lucy nods, grin faint when she looks at him. "I know you will." His thumb slides against her jaw line and she presses up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek softly, lasting only a moment before she's gone, whisked from his arms with the breeze. The smell of stardust lingers in her wake, tickling at his senses as a smile creeps across his expression. His hair ruffles with a gust of air and Natsu opens his eyes slowly.

Natsu's gaze locks with a disgruntled shade of blue, Happy staring at him, curious but displeased. He watches the cat for a moment, the beast still sitting on the desk, mere inches away from him. Natsu doesn't startle, doesn't flinch, though he does tense at the eyes staring back at him, more human than not.

Happy's tail flicks as he stares at Natsu, and then he hisses, tail puffing to twice its size, and the cat leaps from the table and disappears out the door without a second glance.

* * *

He finds himself unsure what to do as the day drags on. With Lucy gone to work at Makarov's shop in town, and Makarov gone with her, Natsu finds himself alone. Jellal disappeared at some time early in the morning, though Natsu figures the man will be back at some point, his things still scattered around the guest room upstairs. The cat, Happy, has been following him like a shadow, just out of sight, but Natsu can smell the creature. Stardust clings to his fur much like it does to Lucy, faint and tinged with something he can't place, but their magic is apparent.

Natsu has noticed that Laxus and Makarov smell much the same as Lucy does, only Laxus smells near sour, something sharp in his scent. Makarov only smells weakly of the stars, the same magic that flows through his grandchildren not present in his own blood. The old man doesn't look like much, frail and thin and small, but there's a tremendous amount of power clinging to him, perhaps even stronger than Laxus and Lucy's combined.

The only thing he's felt that comes close to it magically is the collars.

His skin crawls at the thought, but he trusts that the magic in their little clan isn't the same that used to course through his blood and tear his mind apart, leeching off of him like some parasite. Makarov's magic is strong, intimidating so, but it doesn't feel malevolent, not like the collars.

A low rumbling from behind him makes Natsu tense, the sound a low warning. He glances over his shoulder, seeing the large cat staring at him from atop a tree, the beast staring down at him critically from the high branches, tail flicking harshly. Natsu stills as the cat eyes him, unsure if he should ignore the creature or not. He doubts it would hurt him, if the cat wanted to it certainly could have done so by now, but Natsu also doesn't want to take that risk. His control has already slipped once in recent days, and he isn't keen to test himself so soon.

"What do you want, Cat?" he sneers up at the creature, bristling at the cat's critical gaze. There's something unnerving about it. Lucy said the Kalfee is only five, but something about those eyes seem ancient, as if he knows exactly who and what Natsu is, as if he can peer right down passed his flesh and bones to see the deepest part of him. Lucy's eyes do the same thing to him at times, as if she's looking straight through him, knowing exactly what he's thinking.

A Fae trick, he thinks, there's always been something enchanting about them, mysterious and mystical. They've always seemed wiser than their years and more beautiful than any man. All Fae must have that same look in their eyes, youthful, but as if they've seen too much, felt too much. It must be the magic thrumming through them, creeping through their veins.

The cat yowls at him again, breaking him from his thoughts, and Natsu watches as the beast leaps from the tree, branches quivering beneath its weight. When the cat lands, the ground seems to shake, trembling beneath the enormous weight of the beast. Blue eyes lock with his, the gold ring around the cat's iris growing larger as the cat stares at him, seeming to overtake the blue. It snorts lowly, breath fogging in the chilly air, and takes a step towards Natsu, fur turning silver in the light.

It stares at him for a long moment, blinking at him slowly, and then lunges for him.

Natsu stumbles back, a hiss leaving him as a wooden cart smacks against his knee, a sharp ache hitting him briefly. The cat jumps passed him, missing Natsu by a breath, but it doesn't stop and turn back for him, merely keeps running for the trees. Cursing, Natsu whirls on his heel, staring at the beast with wide eyes. Happy stops at the tree line, tail swishing impatiently as he glances back at Natsu, waiting.

Staring back at Happy, Natsu doesn't move, unsure what the cat wants from him. Snorting, the cat shakes himself, shifting on its paws, claws digging into the soft earth. Happy gives a low cry, deep and not nearly as harsh as before. He waits for Natsu, eyes going from blue to gold and back again. He seems to grow impatient the longer Natsu stands there, tail beginning to twitch and eyes narrowing. For a moment, Natsu thinks the cat might leap at him again, but Happy only blinks and turns his back on Natsu, walking off into the trees without pause.

After a moment, Natsu finds himself following the Kalfee, nearly tripping over himself in his hurry. He doesn't understand the sudden urge to chase the creature, the linger scent of its magic clinging to his senses. The cat had done nothing but growl and hiss at him since Lucy left this morning, wanting nothing to do with Natsu. If the cat wants him to follow it must be of some importance.

It could also be a trick, he knows. The cat could be leading him to the woods to wander aimlessly for hours, chasing a creature that's merely teasing him. Though, Natsu decides that wouldn't be such a bad thing. There's nothing for him to do back at the house, the place too quiet for his liking. The woods feel like a home to him, and chasing a phantom seems better than being lost to his thoughts.

Natsu follows after the cat quickly, Happy running ahead of him, but stopping every hundred feet for Natsu to catch him. He sends Natsu a critical look every time the Berserk finally reaches him, gaze near reprimanding, but the Kalfee never stays long enough for Natsu to make a quip back at him.

As he weaves through the trees, Natsu notices them growing sparser, the tall oaks giving way to patches of tall grass. He hasn't been to this part of the woods before, finding himself near the Fae tree more often than he would care to admit. He vaguely knows that this direction leads further from Magnolia, out towards the fields he and Lucy passed on their way to her home. He hadn't been there yet, not knowing who the land belonged to, the space too open for his liking.

He follows Happy regardless, a strange part of him trusting the cat, just as he did with Lucy the first time they met. He had no reason to believe she wouldn't simply kill him after what he did, but a part of him just knew he could trust her. He hadn't felt that way about anyone since he first met Igneel, and that was so long ago at times he can barely remember it, bits and pieces lost to him.

Happy stops at the edge of the trees, waiting for Natsu to catch him once again, though looking less irritated than he was before. The cat yawns as Natsu approaches, revealing a mouth full of sharp fangs. The action isn't as threatening as Natsu expected, yet he still eyes the cat, unsure what the Fae creature wants with him.

A sudden shout breaks through the silence, and Natsu's head snaps up, gaze jerking away from the lazy stare of the Kalfee. His shoulders tense as Natsu hears another muffled grunt and swearing, the sound closer than expected. Natsu glances around the area wildly, straightening to his full height to look across the field, the grass tickling at his calves.

Romeo stands in the middle of the grass, his back to Natsu and a sword gripped in his hands. The grass is cut lower there, ankle height at best, and a circular ring of dirt surrounds the grassy patch. A dummy stands across from Romeo, made of sticks and hay, a ripped shirt haphazardly strewn across the wooden frame.

Happy trills when he sees the boy, squinting slightly as his tail sways, relaxed as he sees the familiar figure standing in the field. Natsu glances down at the Kalfee, quirking a confused brow and feeling slightly foolish. He thought the cat was leading him out here for a reason, but Natsu doesn't understand why the beast would want to show him Romeo.

The cat glances up at him and snorts before standing. Happy shakes himself slightly, arching his spine and seeming to sigh. Natsu turns back to Romeo, ignoring the Kalfee and staring curiously at the boy. Romeo swings at the dummy, hacking almost crudely at the figure, and Natsu raises a brow when a brief plume of fire sparks from between the boy's fingers, the fire crystal clenched in his fist.

Happy crouches low to the ground as Romeo strikes at the dummy once again, leaning in to an upward strike. With Romeo's back turned, the Kalfee suddenly darts forward, belly practically dragging across the dirt as he snakes through the grass. Natsu starts to call out a warning, unsure what the cat is doing, but something stops him before he can speak, curiosity bubbling inside him. Something about the Fae doesn't seem threatening, at least not to Romeo.

The cat is prowling, but not hunting, exactly.

Happy yowls as he gets close to Romeo, startling the younger man. He whirls on his heel, yelping as he stumbles, slipping on the grass. Happy leaps for him and Romeo shouts, dropping his sword and his stone to the ground as the Kalfee slams into him, knocking them both to the dirt. Romeo groans under the cat's weight, struggling beneath the Kalfee, who seems content to lie there. Happy's bristled tongue lavishes Romeo's hair, the boy squirming beneath him, swears muffled by the cat.

Natsu bites back an amused laugh, smiling as Romeo finally shoves the Fae off him, scrambling back to his feet before Happy an trap him again. As Romeo rights himself, Happy pushes back onto his feet, head butting against Romeo's chest playfully, the Fae trilling lowly as he noses at Romeo, who merely laughs and pushes his large head away.

Romeo exchanges his sword for a stick, holding it in front of him challengingly as he says something to the Kalfee that Natsu doesn't catch. Natsu eyes him critically as the Fae swipes at Romeo, who stumbles again, easily knocked aside by the cat. The boy tries again, but the beast merely swats the sword aside, sending Romeo into the dirt as his legs are knocked out from underneath him.

Natsu starts forward before he can stop himself, moving silently through the grass as Romeo roughhouses with the Kalfee, Happy swatting at him playfully. The batting of his paws is harmless, no claws to be seem, and Romeo laughs as Happy rubs his cheek against Romeo's, fur tickling the boy.

"Your stance is wrong," Natsu says suddenly, stopping when he's only a few feet away from the pair. Romeo stills, head snapping around to meet Natsu's gaze, and he blinks up at Natsu with wide eyes, mouth dropping open slightly. Natsu only stares back at him, shifting his stance, slightly uncomfortable with the boy's staring. He knows Romeo means no harm by it, but Natsu never has enjoyed people watching him so keenly.

Romeo's head tilts to the side curiously. "What?" He wiggles on the ground, shoving the cat off of him easily.

Happy makes a show of yowling as he's shoved away, the cat dramatic, as if he's been wounded by the boy. Romeo pays no attention to the beast, gaze on Natsu, and Happy snorts, displeased. The cat sends Natsu a bored, irritated look as he rolls away from Romeo and flops down onto the grass. The Kalfee sighs, eyes slipping shut, though Natsu can feel the beast watching him from the corner of his eye, tail swishing around absently.

Natsu clears his throat, glancing at the worn dummy before turning back to Romeo. "Your stance," he repeats slowly, raising his voice so Romeo can hear him over the loud purring of the Kalfee. "You're putting your weight on your heel. That's why he's knocking you over so easily." He jerks his chin towards Happy, who cracks open a lazy eye to glare at Natsu, sniffing slightly.

Romeo purses his lips, shoving himself to his feet as he feels around for his sword. He fumbles with it for a moment, gaze flicking between the blade and Natsu aware of his eyes on him. Natsu stays to the edge of the training circle, watching as Romeo slips into a better stance, more balanced than it was before. As he shifts his feet into position, Romeo glances at Natsu, a silent question in his eyes.

"That's better," he praises, earning a smile from Romeo. Natsu grins back faintly, clearing his throat as he takes a slow step forward. "Didn't your family ever show you how to do this?" He almost regrets asking, remembering suddenly that Romeo is an orphan, but the boy only shrugs.

"Lucy did," Romeo tells him, sliding his sword back into a leather scabbard Natsu hadn't noticed before. "But I didn't have anyone to spar with while she was gone." He hooks the scabbard around his waist, stooping to grab his fire stone from the ground.

Natsu frowns. "Laxus didn't help you?" He doesn't know why he asks, but if he's being honest, Natsu is curious about all of them. Laxus may not like him, but Natsu would like to know him regardless. He's always been interested in the Fae, and Laxus is strong, clearly disciplined in his own right, though he has a mean temper. In some ways he seems like Natsu, both of them ruled by their anger.

Laxus just isn't as conscious of his.

Romeo shakes his head at the question, lips quirking sadly at the edges. "Laxus… he doesn't fight with swords anymore. Not since…" Romeo trails off abruptly, biting his lip to keep himself from saying anything else. Happy lifts his head from the ground, cooing at Romeo as he shifts on the ground. Absently, the boy places his hand on the Kalfee's head, rubbing between his ears and making the beast purr.

"Just his fists?" It comes out as something of a joke, and Natsu relaxes slightly when Romeo's lips twitch into a small smile.

He sighs, fiddling with the hilt of his sword. "Something like that," he says simply.

They delve into silence for a long moment after that. Romeo continues to play with Happy's ears, the Kalfee purring loudly and rubbing his big head against the boy's leg, yawning as he leans into Romeo's touch. Natsu watches them with a small smile, glancing back at the battered stick dummy, practically falling apart at the seams. It's worn, but seems relatively new, as if it's only been there for a short time, a year at most.

"How long have you been training?"

Romeo glances up at the sudden question, seeming startled to notice that Natsu is still there. He colors slightly, running a hand through his hair in embracement. Lucy does the same thing when she's frustrated, raking a hand through her hair, her fingers catching in the knots and tangles.

"Lucy started teaching me when I was nine," Romeo tells him softly, sending him an awkward smile, "but that was just with sticks." He seems embarrassed by the admission, and Natsu has to bite back a laugh, not wanting to make the boy feel bad.

Natsu crosses his arms, glancing out across the field as Romeo pets Happy, chewing his bottom lip. "That's how everyone learns," he promises, smiling widely at Romeo. The boy blinks when he seems Natsu's sharp canines and the crinkle of Natsu's eyes, but slowly he smiles back.

"Even you?" he teases, though there's something genuinely curious about the question, as if he can't fathom a Berserk training with sticks. Natsu has heard all of the stories, how they come out fighting from the womb, in mad frenzies from birth. Igneel used to laugh at those stories so hard that Natsu's ears would ring from the booming sound.

They all had to train to become warriors. The anger is what came naturally, but not the skill to use it. Berserks may be natural fighters, but if they don't train that raw force is useless in a real fight. They become careless and sloppy.

Natsu wets his lips. "Well, I can't say I'm much of a sword fighter," he jokes. Natsu knows enough to stick them with the pointy end, but most of the finesse that comes with sword fights is lost on him. He'd be worthless in a battle of blades.

"But you _are_ a fighter," Romeo says. It's not a question, though it's weighted like one, almost as if Romeo is testing him.

Natsu raises a brow at the boy, cracking his knuckles slowly. Romeo's gaze seems to flit to the scars on Natsu's chest, from fights or otherwise each one branded deeply into his skin. "You tell me."

Romeo grins, snorting softly, and opens his mouth to respond, but someone cuts him off before he can.

"Romeo!" A familiar voice calls out, a figure stepping out from the trees. "Come on, I need you to—" Laxus cuts off abruptly when he sees Natsu standing only a foot away from Romeo, Happy still lounging lazily at their feet. His jaw snaps shut so harshly that Natsu can hear the click of his teeth from a dozen yards away. Bruises still line Laxus' jaw, ugly things, purple and green in places.

There's a heavy pause before either of them react. "Laxus," Romeo's smile dims, but only slightly. He slips away from Natsu's side, running up to Laxus, who stalks towards them slowly, eyes on Natsu. "I was just—"

"Training with the Berserker," Laxus finishes for Romeo, glaring at Natsu over Romeo's dark mop of hair. Laxus reaches out slowly, placing a protective hand on Romeo's head and ruffling his hair. He eyes Natsu warily, free hand clenching into a fist, his posture defensive. He doesn't seem angry, exactly, only cautious as he shifts, trying to place himself between Natsu and Romeo. "Three for three, huh?"

It takes Natsu a moment to understand that he's referring to people, how he's already hurt both him and Lucy.

Natsu blinks back, something nasty rising in his chest, a sneer pulling at his lips. "Someone had to teach him," he snips, grinning at Laxus almost lazily. He knows he's only egging the man on, but Natsu can't get hold o his tongue. "His form was sloppy. Thought you'd be a better fighter than that."

Laxus stiffens and Romeo sucks in a sharp breath. Natsu manages to bite his tongue quickly, aware that he's overstepped in some way.

Laxus sucks in an angry breath, hands beginning to shake. The Kalfee stands slowly, bristling slightly, though at whom Natsu isn't sure. "You shouldn't be out here," Laxus tells him firmly. "You shouldn't be in Magnolia at all."

"You shouldn't be picking a fight so soon after the last," Natsu says in return, shoving down bitter words as he turns his back on the pair, raising a hand in parting before stalking off into the woods.

* * *

 **AN:** **Almost caught up. I'm not making edits on Arc Two unless noted at the top of the chapter. There's really not much I feel the need to change, aside from a few lines and character mentions. A completely new chapter will either be out this Saturday (June 2) or the next Saturday, as I'm restructuring the arc and trying to remember exactly what I was trying to do with it.**


	47. Arc Two: Chapter 11

**AN: Here we are! Back with Arc Two! Hurray! Be sure to leave a review and tell me your thoughts on the chapters! I love to know what you all think! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Berserk**

 **Arc Two: Chapter Eleven**

 _{those intrepid heroes; those who wade out into battle}_

Lucy wrinkles her nose as she glances at the row of vials in the back of Makarov's shop, glass glinting in the light spilling through the windows. She drags a finger along the curved edge of one jar, the red liquid inside sloshing slightly as she causes the vial to turn in place. Absently, she counts them, twenty jars in all lining the far wall, each one carefully crafted by the glassblower across the street. Makarov has them special made, trading potions and weapons for the delicate vials, each stamped with the Dreyar family sigil pressed into the bottom.

Slowly, she pulls her fingers away from the glass, frowning to herself as she glances down the row, searching for the jar of Night Whisper Makarov needs. The tonic is a powerful one, meant to alter dreams, giving answers to questions people may have, revealing their destiny or simply the truth. It's hard to come by, Makarov making the tonic rarely, though he keeps a small amount locked away inside his shop at home. He hasn't used it, not in the three years since he locked it away, and she can't help but wonder what he's saving it for.

As she drags her fingers across the smooth curve of another jar, Lucy purses her lips. She's never used Night Whisper herself, afraid of what the potion could reveal to her while she sleeps. Too many questions wrack her mind, with too few answers to be found.

Briefly, she remembers the odd dream she had while dying in Bosco, how her nightmare warped into something that chills her to the bone when she thinks about it: the stadium and the people screaming, the _blood_. There was so much blood. And Natsu's hand curling around her neck.

Her skin crawls at the thought, but she shakes her head, dismissing it. She nearly forgot about the nightmare. She _wanted_ to. It was an odd dream and nothing else, and she was never willing to let it fester like some open wound. It was nothing more than dark magic twisting her thoughts and playing with every one of her fears, playing mind games in a way only Fae magic can.

Lucy takes a deep breath as she turns back to the row of bottles on the shelf, wetting her lips as she searches for the dark, midnight blue of the Night Whisper. Makarov keeps it in the back row, with the more expensive bottles. The more dangerous ones.

It used to be that they were kept far from the reach of little hands. Laxus, Lucy, and Romeo were always getting into things they shouldn't. Makarov always kept things out of their reach, though it never stopped them from trying.

Lucy searches the bottles for the dark mixture, fumbling to remember where Makarov always keeps it. She used to work in this shop nearly every day, but she can barely remember where everything is now. Despite her time away, she never thought it was long enough for her to forget such a simple thing.

A glint of blue flickers in the corner of her eye, and Lucy grins as she snatches the elixir off the shelf, the jar heavy and familiar in her hands. She settles back onto her heels slowly, cradling the glass mixture in her palms. Makarov wouldn't be happy if she ruined most his supply. Night Whisper is hard to make, the ingredients scattered throughout Fiore and the surrounding kingdoms. More than that, it's taxing to create, more magic than usual poured into the mixture.

The last time Makarov made it, he was in bed for two weeks with a fever, his magic drained.

Lucy promised herself she wouldn't let him make anymore. Few people seek Night Whisper anymore, and those who do never find the answers they want. It's more of a curse than anything, and the fact that they have a customer specifically coming for the potion is a curious thing.

What answers could be so important that someone would thousands of jewel to obtain them? She doubts she would want to know.

Shaking the thoughts away, Lucy pulls the bottle close to her chest, fingers tracing the sigil pressed into the glass absentmindedly. She turns away from the row of potions, her skin crawling when she thinks of the more unsavory ones, ones that can peel a person's skin from their bones or rip their spirits from their chests.

Lucy leaves the back room slowly, dawdling as there's no reason to hurry. The shop has been near empty all morning, with the few people stopping in mostly coming to say hello, rather than peruse the shop. It's always been like that in the fall, most people tending to their crops or their own stores. Furs are what everyone looks for at this time of year, Makarov's magic shop forgotten until spring. Though it's always disappointing to see the shop grow vacant, it aligns well with the Fae markets in Hargeon, Makarov having enough time to stock whatever he plans to sell for the long month.

As she slips through the door and into the front of the shop, Lucy is unsurprised to find it empty. Makarov is where she left him, bend over a table with a spellbook open before him, muttering to himself as he looks over ingredients. He glances up at the front door every few seconds, looking for the customer coming for Night Whisper.

Lucy pads over to him quietly, not wanting to disturb him. She places the vial beside him, Makarov glancing up at her as she pulls her hand away. "Here you are," she murmurs, taking a step back, intent to take stock of what they have in the back, someone needing to do so before they leave for Hargeon. Laxus is woefully useless with numbers and Romeo tends to become easily distracted while counting, losing his place easily. Makarov simply won't have the time to take stock, and Lucy decides it's better to start now than later.

She turns on her heel to leave, but pauses when she sees the confusion in her grandfather's eyes. "Lucy," he begins softly, sending her a quizzical look, "this is not the elixir I asked for." He taps the side of the vial with a finger, expression slipping into something like amusement as he stares at her.

Lucy merely frowns back, brow furrowing as she glances at the dark colored potion. "You wanted Night Whisper," she says, a tinge of confusion slipping into her voice. Lucy turns back to him, not seeing an issue with the potion. Did he want her to measure out enough for the customer as well?

She goes to voice her question, but he shakes his head, holding the jar into the light for her to better see. "I did," he tells her simply, a flicker of concern swimming in his gaze. Lucy's brow furrows, and in the light the liquid appears more black than blue, more murky and thick than Night Whisper should be. Her eyes go wide when she realizes her mistake. "This, however, is—"

"Black Death," she finishes for him, groaning at her own stupidity. Her stomach twists sickly as she realizes what could have happened had she been here alone. Black Death is a potion they very rarely sell, the name as it implies. Had she given it to a customer instead of Night Whisper they would have died terribly in their sleep, vomiting black blood as their insides began to rot. It's a terrible thing, one Lucy wouldn't wish on anyone, and Makarov won't sell it to just anyone. They've only sold it three times in all of their years in Magnolia, twice on official business from the Royal army of Fiore and once to a Faeborne in Bosco.

They never sell Black Death without a good reason, and even then it isn't something they relish in.

"I grabbed the wrong one," Lucy whispers, a horrified edge creeping into her voice as she winces. A shiver wracks her form as she thinks about it. Lucy has no qualms with killing when it seems necessary, but she's never taken pride in doing so and it's always been with the purpose of saving herself or saving others. She wouldn't be able to stomach accidentally murdering a customer because of her own forgetfulness.

Makarov, however, doesn't seem nearly as concerned, an odd amusement in his gaze. "Aye," he agrees with her simply, placing the jar back on the table, keeping it a good distance from his work. "Wouldn't want to give this to someone would we?" He chuckles, but there's no humor to it.

"I'm sorry," she groans, shooting him an apologetic look. "I'm just—I'm trying to get used to things again." It's a weak excuse, she knows. A mistake like this isn't something trifle, it has consequences. The last time she made mistakes like this she was no older than nine. She should know better than this.

Makarov stands slowly, his chair creaking as the old wood shifts beneath his weight. He reaches for her with one wrinkled hand, beckoning her a step closer. His touch is familiar when his fingers curl around her shoulder, giving her a brief squeeze. He lingers there, waiting until she meets his eyes to speak. "You know this, Lucy," he tells her softly, a small frown marring his expression. "Nothing here has changed." It sounds like a promise when he says it, but Lucy shakes her head.

"Everything's changed," she argues quietly. At least for her things have. Lucy raises one hand to cover his on her shoulder, sending him a sad smile when he looks at her with concern. "It's been almost three weeks since I've been back," Lucy reminds him. Things should be easier now, but she still feels out of place, almost off balance.

He stares at her, giving one slow blink and seeming to look right through her. "It has," he muses, voice a low rumble. He says nothing else, waiting for her to continue as his gaze burns against hers, almost shrewd as he observes her.

Lucy sighs heavily, glancing down at the bottle of Black Death resting on Makarov's table, a dark spot against the scrolls unraveled across the surface. "I feel like I should remember all of this," she admits, biting her lower lip. This shop used to be everything to her. She would spend more time here than anywhere else, and yet it's like she's never stepped foot inside these walls.

He gives her shoulder another slow squeeze before guiding her forward into a hug. His thin arms curl around her frame, almost cradling her, and his beard scratches at her skin, but she clings to him in return, finding comfort in his embrace just as she always has. He hasn't changed at all since she first left. "You were gone for some time, Lucy," he murmurs against her ear. "This is your first time back in the shop for months." He thumb rubs circles between her shoulders and her fingers knot in the fabric of his vest.

"That's no excuse. I used to know this place inside and out." She practically grew up in this shop. It's just another home to her.

He pats her back, squeezing her tight once more. "It'll come back to you in time," he promises, no hint of a lie in his words. He's always thought the best of people, believing in them no matter what. He always tells them that it's once someone stops believing in themselves that they lose the ability to achieve anything.

"How can you be so sure?" she asks as he pulls away from her, Makarov taking a step back and resting his palm against the table behind him. His fingers find the Black Death, and he cradles the potion close to himself, tracing the glass rim with a wrinkled finger.

Makarov sends her a slow smile, his eyes wrinkling around the edges and his teeth barely visible. "It'll have too," he tells her, smile twisting into something almost impish. "That or Laxus will have to start working the counter," he jokes, "and we both know how that would turn out."

It startles her into a laugh, Lucy shaking her head as she pictures Laxus working in the shop everyday surly and off putting to customers. "We wouldn't have any customers left." She smiles back at Makarov, mood lightened by the quip.

"You'd be surprised," Makarov tells her, shaking his head with a low chuckle. "He draws in plenty of young women." He winks at her, expression sly, and she's met with the image of Laxus coercing women into the shop, always charming in his own way.

"And young men, I presume," she teases, only half-serious. Makarov sends her a look that makes her think she's right, but she says nothing else as he pushes away from the table, taking a slow step towards the backroom.

Lucy turns away from him, heading towards a wall lined with more common potions. She eyes each one, counting them slowly and wondering how many Makarov intends to bring to Hargeon with them. There are more than usual, the small bottles filled with every color of liquid imaginable, dozens of potions that she recognizes. Usually they don't keep this many in stock. It isn't good for business to keep this many potions laying about, it makes them seem easy to make and cheap to buy.

"Lucy Dear," Makarov calls out to her, pausing at the threshold of the backroom. She glances over her shoulder at him, head tilting to the side curiously as mischief flickers in his eyes. "Perhaps you should go home for the rest of the day," he tells her, smiling to let her know it's only a joke, "you may poison the costumers."

She rolls her eyes, light-hearted. "It was one mistake," she calls back to him, huffing as she turns her back to him once more, hearing him chuckle behind her.

"That's all it takes!" he tells her, clucking his tongue disapprovingly. She glances at him once more, more amused than she thinks she should be. He doesn't give her time to reply as he slips into the back to retrieve the correct potion, their customer set to arrive anytime now. She was told he would be here before noon, the man coming from the Veronica territory of Northern Fiore, quite some distance from Magnolia.

She hasn't a clue why anyone would come so far for a single potion, but she'd be a fool to turn away a customer because of it.

Lucy takes stock of what they have for several minutes, counting the potions carefully before moving on to the other items they keep on them, precious gems they've traded for and the few enchanted weapons Makarov makes every year for the markets. With all they have now, Lucy doesn't doubt that it'll be a good year for them, either in trade or in profit. There's always a demand for Makarov's potions and people will pay good money for him to cast spells for them. She takes pride in knowing she's the granddaughter of one of the best Spellweavers in the Ishgar Peninsula.

The shop bell chimes as the door is pushed open, and Lucy immediately turns, a greeting on her tongue, but she goes still when she sees who it is. Blue eyes peer at her, long white hair falling into a familiar face "Mira!" She turns on her heel before she even realizes it, practically tripping over herself in her rush to greet her friend.

"Lucy!" Mira meets her halfway, wrapping her in a hug that steals Lucy's breath. Mira practically squeals against her ear, lifting Lucy off the ground for only a moment before setting her down once more. "I thought it was you. Oh, it's good to see you again! I heard you were back but—"

She laughs, wheezing when Mira squeezes a bit too tight. "I didn't see you at Romeo's party," she says, pulling away from Mira. Lucy grins at her, elated to see the other woman. The last time she saw Mira was to weeks before she left, the Strauss family gone to visit an aunt in Clover Town.

"I was in Hargeon with Lisanna," Mira explains, smiling apologetically. "We thought we would be back in time, but business is business. We couldn't just leave." She shrugs, blue eyes wide as she looks over Lucy. It's been months since they last saw each other, but Mira still seems the same as ever, good-natured and bubbly.

Lucy waves off the explanation, not needing one. "Selling charms at the markets?" she asks. While not Faeborne themselves, the Strauss family has created luck charms for as long as Lucy can remember, the family claiming to be blessed by the Luck God Ffiel. Selling the luck charms has been a tradition of theirs for years, starting back before their parents were killed in a Berserk raid that destroyed Magnolia for many years.

Lucy shudders at the memory, buries it before it can come to the front of her mind, not wanting to remember that night.

Mira winks at her, smile coy as she bats her eyelashes. "Well, they may not be quite as mystical as yours, but they do sell well." Lucy laughs along with Mira, but nods in agreement. The Strauss charms are pretty things, and Lucy has received several as gifts over the years, a dozen of them hanging above the window in her room, each one dear to her.

Mira's blue eyes seem to sparkle as she smirks at Lucy, who groans, knowing Mira has something on her mind. "So," she starts casually, picking at her fingernails. Lucy rolls her eyes, smiling fondly as she turns to count the shop's stock of Encan crystals, rare in the way they shine light even in the darkest of nights. It took Lucy days to find them and even longer to crack them open to find the gems inside. "I heard you brought a man home with you."

Lucy nearly drops one of the stones, but catches herself quickly, not wanting to give Mira that kind of power over her. "And where did you hear that?" she asks, eyeing Mira, who grins and rocks on her heels, long skirt swirling around her ankles.

"A little bluebird told me," she replies, grinning wide. Bixlow then. He has eyes everywhere in Magnolia, being almost as big a gossip as Mira. He's a good friend of Laxus, the two of them serving in the same division during their time with the royal army a few years back.

Lucy snorts, rolling her eyes at the information. Bixlow is a gossip, but he also tends to bend things out of proportion. She's been fed information by him before, and it was all so far from the truth that it did her no good. "And what did the bluebird say?"

The smile Mira sends her is chilling.

They talk for several more minutes, Mira asking about her trip after Lucy waves off her questions about the shirtless man Bixlow saw crawling through her bedroom window. It was taxing for Lucy to get Mira to drop the line of questioning, however a well-timed jab about Bixlow doing the same to Lisanna, Mira's younger sister, once quiets her quickly. Lucy lies about why she left, telling Mira she was off to find a precious stone for Makarov, which isn't entirely untrue. While she feels bad for the lie, Lucy can't tell the truth. It would lead to too many questions.

Mira leaves some time later, mentioning groceries and Elfman needing a new pair of gauntlets, his old ones bent beyond repair, though she promises to stop by again when she has time.

As she slips out the door, her shoulder knocks against that of someone entering the shop. Mira's apology is muffled and the man she bumped into doesn't appear to hear her as he slips into the shop. Lucy stares at the man, brow furrowing as he slinks into the store, swathed in black, a cloak pulled low over his face. He doesn't pay her any mind as he heads for the back counter, nor does he bother to look at the potions on display or the other items littering the store.

Frowning, she takes a step forward, mouth opened slightly to call out to him. A hand curls around her elbow, stopping her, and she glances down to see Makarov standing there, his mouth set into a grim line and the Night Whisper cradled in his other hand.

"Leave this to me, Lucy Dear," he whispers, patting her arm before slipping around her and heading to the front. Their exchange is quick, The man handing over a pouch filled with jewels before Makarov hands him the elixir. No words are exchanged, and the silence creeps through the room like the cold, slow and biting.

The man leaves as quietly as he came.

* * *

Lucy sits behind the front counter, polishing a knife as she glances out the front window, squinting through the glass to see if anyone is on the streets. They had few customers after Mira and the stranger left, a dozen shoppers coming in for potions, though none were as odd as the man who came for the Night Whisper. With the day coming to an end, it's only a matter of time before Makarov decides they can leave. On busy days they could be here until well after sunset, but with such a slow day there would be no need.

She glances at Makarov, still bent low over his desk, muttering to himself as he looks over potion instructions. "Jellal said something interesting the other day," she says suddenly, breaking the silence that settled around them after the last customer left. She wets her lips, recounting the spar she had with Jellal. She hasn't mentioned what he said to anyone else, not yet, but if anyone should know, it's Makarov.

"Did he?" Makarov glances at her over his shoulder briefly before turning back to his scrolls. "I wasn't aware you and Jellal were speaking." There's a tightness in his voice that's unfamiliar, almost strained, and her eyes narrow at the barbed statement.

She swallows. "We never stopped." Not on purpose, anyway. He was busy and so was she.

Makarov shuffles a few pages, searching for something, but Lucy doesn't ask. "Well, you didn't leave on the best of terms," he notes, not unkindly, but Lucy still blanches at the statement.

"I didn't come back on them either," she mumbles back, hoping she doesn't sound as bitter as she feels. Coming home wasn't what she expected it to be. She didn't think anyone would be especially welcoming towards Natsu, but she never thought Laxus would completely shut her out the way he did.

Makarov sighs, setting a scroll before turning to face her, the Encan crystals on the wall casting strange shadows on his face. "They'll come around," he promises, not for the first time.

She snorts. "You keep saying that." Lucy sends him a wry smile,

"Because it's true." He smiles briefly before going back to his work. "Laxus, well, he's Laxus," Makarov explains, "he has every right to be angry."

"I know he does" Lucy says, softer than before. She doesn't blame him for being angry. After what happened to their family, she could never blame him for distrusting Natsu at first, or for his anger about it. She knows it isn't coming from a malicious part of him, only a place of deep rooted fear and anger from what happened years ago. "And I was angry too," Lucy continues after a stretch of silence, "but if he would just give Natsu a chance maybe…"

"He will," Makarov promises, glancing at her once more. "Give it time." She nods though he can't see it, and in the faint light she sees a hint of a smile on his lips. "Now what did Jellal say?"

" _You want to start a war. You want to prevent a war. Get in the Royal Family's good graces."_

Her lips press into a thin line. It was what Jellal didn't say that has her concerned. He's always been tight-lipped, keeping secrets more often than not, and she has no idea what to make of what he told her. Jellal rarely makes sense when he speaks, talking in riddles. It's an annoying habit of his, to say nothing else. "Did you know that Vigali left the Rangers?" she asks him instead.

He snorts, amused as he laughs to himself. "I know everything, Lucy Dear," he says simply. She isn't surprised. Makarov and Vigali were always on good terms. It was their friendship that first introduced Lucy to the Rangers years ago.

"And you didn't tell me?" There's no heat to the question, only genuine curiosity. She wouldn't think he would keep something like that from her.

"You never wanted to be a Ranger," he reminds her.

She glances at him, pausing as she wipes down a blade. "That doesn't mean it isn't something I should know," she tells him, slightly miffed at his reasoning. She doesn't like things being kept from her, not from him.

"Isn't it?" he asks. "You wanted no part in their affairs and I wasn't going to drag you into them. Besides, you only just came home. You had enough to worry about. Especially with Laxus opening his mouth about the rebellion."

Lucy shakes her head, pursing her lips. "I've dealt with Laxus and his big mouth my entire life," she reminds him, squinting down at the knife in her hands, the jeweled hilt finely crafted. It's likely to sell for a nice price at the markets, especially if it's enchanted for someone. "You could have told me."

"Would it have made a difference if I did?"

Lucy stays silent for a long time, musing over what he's said. He isn't wrong, exactly, but she still wishes he would have said something before Jellal did, maybe then she could make some sense out of what he meant. Jellal was more cryptic than usual the other day, and that never means anything good.

Placing the blade on the counter, Lucy leans forward until her elbows are on the wooden surface, her eyes on Makarov's back. "Did you know that the son of the King's Hand is now Captain of the Eastern Scouts?" she asks slowly.

Makarov stills, his back to Lucy, expression unreadable. "That," he muses after a long moment, his fingers curling into fists atop his desk, "I did not know."

* * *

 **AN: Annnnnd we're caught up! A brand new chapter should be up either this Saturday or next week Saturday! Thanks for your patience!**


	48. an update

Wow, okay, so it's been a hot minute since I was on my FF account or really thought about Fairy Tail. This is going to be a very brief explanation of why I abandoned all of my Fairy Tail fics and what I've been doing since!

So, the end of 2017-early 2018 was a rough time for me. I had two deaths in the family, was falling out with the FT fandom, and had some drama with plagiarism/a large amount of anonymous hate on this fic. Summer 2018 I finally got back into the swing of things. I had a job and I started writing for the Riverdale fandom, which is where I've since been active. I'm still around on tumblr and will try to be more active on here as well, but can't promise anything.

I've really moved on from my Fairy Tail days and appreciate all of the wonderful feedback and support I received on this fic. In about two months I'll be graduating from college with a degree in creative writing, and I never would have even considered going to college for English if it wasn't for this fandom's support. Thank you so much to all of the readers I had on this fic! It's the reason I'm still writing at all!

I would love to come back and give this fic some kind of resolution this summer if people are interested. It would only be a few more chapters added on, but it would round out the slow burn that's been going for nearly 50 chapters!

Apologies for my long time away! You can still find me on tumblr and AO3 if you need me!


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